

Slielf 


UNITED STATES OF AMEKICA 













































CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. 


*Y V’ *• 

■ »v ^ ' 


«. r 


■• -SOT . * ■' •'■'-■ ^ ■ 


y t 




\ >' 


^ . ■ • -s 


-■■■ . ■ 'V I- ■• “ ..• 

3^:>\ .s ■■' ■::. 

:>•-■ :Y 4 R 

r^''^ .'.Vv '■: •.:.•*'♦'> ■« 





" \f:- ^ '■ “ • v:,V: 

. ■ • •■ •H' ‘^ ». 

vr‘^. i: .»■ ' ■':.;/ 

;-' ■ 

»• * 'if-A * ' 

• . ^ * . ; v* 

• ,*'**^ y . •' 1**^ 

■• •■ ' 

• • ' * •" • ■• fij " 




•■ • * v% •*•.» 

••: ••. r. •. • '‘Y* 



V I ^ 


V. 


.t 


rC 


> - 




f •' 


■>:•;• 


. .V 


l*.‘ •' 




' >;• 




•' ji/i 


, ' 




«.' > 


-■ ' *} ^ 


< • 


4 ., 







’■ 

-4 

W:^^y 

» J . - 4 * 

\ ■ '. 
v>' 


■ < 


• . 1 

% 

1^' 

r 1 

1 a *** 


'vy 




>' K .•» I ^ • 

rH-;;.',' '.«■ »■' 

'v ii. < ■ 




* ' 






■’v 


‘ *• 14 i '• 

VliK' ■ ' 


, » . ' >1 




• ^ 




A 


4 « r 


> 4 


4 » 


V.-r y 

* . /•>',, *^7 

^'l . » '• ^. * •• . *! 


I.- 


- 4 « 




’ / 


,‘;'r 

• I • 



•<- • 



-♦ 


» • 




' life 

. . . '• 3 




. ■ » • ' 1 * •!• • ‘s^ 

* f* » I • y ■' ^ ^ 

■■ . ' : -p 

- ■ ■ ■ .-."J 

6^t!g2' ■ • 



' i 


. >• i ^ ?j •.'* j '• 


• « 


^ >* 


« ' < 




r ’ 




. M 



Connor D’Arcy’s Struggles. 


Mrs. W. M. BERTHOLDS, 

I ' 

AUTHOR OF “ONE IN A CROWD,” “UNCLE JOHN’S JEWELS,” 
“ A GOLDEN HAND,” ETC., ETC. 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago : 


BHNZIOKR BROTHKRS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See, 

1893. 


TZ% 


Copyright, 1893, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Chapter I., 




• 


• 

• 

7 

Chapter II., 








• 15 

Chapter III., . 








. 24 

Chapter IV., . 








• 33 

Chapter V., 



• • 





. 44 

Chapter VI., . 



• • 


• 



. 56 

Chapter VII., . 




• 

• 



. 66 

Chapter VIII., 




• 

• 



. 75 

Chapter IX., . 




• 




. 87 

Chapter X., 




• 




• 97 

Chapter XI., . 








. 107 

Chapter XII., 








. 118 

Chapter XIII., 








. 128 

Chapter XIV., 



• 



• 

• 

. 141 

Chapter XV., . 


. 

. 



. 

. 

. 153 


5 


6 


Contents. 


PAGE 


Chapter 

XVI., 







Chapter 

XVII., 


• 


. 

c- 

. 172 

Chapter 

XVIII., . 




. 

• 

. 179 

Chapter 

XIX., 






. 192 

Chapter 

XX., 






. 203 

Chapter 

XXI., 






. 212 

Chapter 

XXII., , . 






. 220 

Chapter 

XXIII., . 




• • 


. 229 

Chapter 

XXIV., . 




• • 


. 241 

Chapter 

XXV,, 




• • 


. 248 

Chapter 

XXVI., . 






. 259 

Chapter 

XXVII., . 






. 268 

Chapter 

XXVIII., . 


• • 

• 

• • 

• 

. 277 

Chapter 

XXIX., . 


• • 

• 

• • 

• 

. 287 


CONNOR D’ARCrS STRUGGLES. 


Chapter IF. 

Like April morning clouds, that pass 
With varying shadows o’er the grass, 

And imitate on field and furrow 

Life’s chequered game of joy and sorrow.” 

— Sir Walter Scott. 

“1 T keeps pattering on the window ! I 

I I wish it would stop. It’s so cold, such a wretched, 

pitiless day, and we have such a tiny fire. Don’t 
you think, Denise, that you could contrive to make it burn 
brighter ? Do try. ” 

“I wish I could, dear, for mamma’s sake and yours. 
Are you so very cold, Eva ?” 

“Cold! I’m starved with cold and famishing with hun- 
ger,” said the girl piteously. 

“I am so sorry, dear,” responded Denise D’Arcy, 
touching her sister’s bright hair caressingly; “but do not 
let mamma hear you, she is so weak and ill. Try to bear 
it a little longer. In another hour Teddy will be home, 
and then we shall have a nice cup of tea and a little more 
fire.” 

“Another hour! I think I shall certainly die before 
then. I wish I were like you,” Eva cried, in a tone of 
self-pity. “ You never seem to feel anything, while I am 
such a miserable creature I feel everything. I am always 

7 


8 


Connor D' Arcy's Struggles. 


hungry and cold, except when the weather is hot; and 
then this nasty garret smothers me — it is such a wretched 
thing not to have nice clothes to wear, and large, hand- 
some rooms to live in, as we used to have long ago. When 
I go with Aunt Kate to the park and see the ladies so 
richly dressed, and driving in such handsome carriages, I 
feel just hateful about being poor, like this, and I so long 
to be one of them. Now you needn’t look at me like that, 
Denise; I know you’re going to preach me a sermon on 
patience, but all the same it won’t make me feel one bit 
better.” 

“ No, my darling, I am not going to inflict a sermon on 
you,” Denise said, tenderly folding an old faded shawl 
round her sister’s shoulders and kissing the pretty, soft 
cheek. “What is the good, dear, in preaching patience 
to a poor little girl who is a victim to cold and hunger? 
But who knows, dear ? — perhaps Connor may bring back a 
letter, and the sun may come from behind the clouds; then 
we will forget that the rain is pattering pitilessly against 
the window, and all our other little troubles. You are 
not so very cold now, are you?” 

“You are always so hopeful, Denise,” ignoring her sis- 
ter’s question, “but I don’t see any room for hope. I 
quite believe that mamma will never get another letter 
from papa; it’s years and years since he sent the last one, 
and if he had wanted to write we would have had a letter 
long ago; and it’s awfully cruel of papa to desert mamma 
and us like that.” 

“Oh, do not say that, Eva,” Denise cried, in low, 
shocked tones; “ papa has not deserted mamma and us; 
things have gone wrong with him, you know, dear.” 

“Well, you must admit, Denise, they’ve taken a precious 
long time in coming all right again.” 

“It will all come right in God’s good time, Eva, and. 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 9 

you know, dear mother says all good things come to those 
who can wait with patience. ” 

“That’s one of your many virtues, Denise; you’ve been 
endowed with so many there were none left for poor me.” 

“ Do not talk such nonsense, Eva. Is not Aunt Kate 
very long? I am glad dear mamma continues to sleep so 
soundly.” 

“ Poor auntie,” Eva answered, with a little, low musical 
laugh, “has faith that should move mountains; surely her 
prayers will be answered some time and your patience re- 
warded ; but I must be very wicked, for, like Thomas, I 
can only believe when I see.” 

“Hush, Eva! do not say such wicked things; prayer 
is a subject too sacred to jest upon. You know it does 
auntie good; she always returns from church so much 
brighter and happier; she seems to bring the sunshine 
with her into these dull attics when she has been to Mass 
or Benediction or steals away for an hour to pray as she 
has done now.” 

“ An hour! Why, she has been two hours if she has been 
a minute. Perhaps she feels it warmer in church than in 
this wretched place,” glancing with an expressive shiver 
around the poor, scantily furnished, but exceedingly clean 
attic-room ; “ but if she were as cold and hungry as I, she 
would not have strength. I never feel like praying when 
I am hungry.” 

“ My poor Eva! I am so sorry that I cannot give you 
something to eat; but Teddy will soon be here now, and 
then ” 

“Yes, I wish he would come. I wonder,” she added, 
brightening perceptibly, “ if Lottchen will come up. I 
wish she would ask me to tea; I do like to take tea with 
Lottchen; you are so proud you wouldn’t go, just be- 
cause we are poor and couldn’t return it, but I think false 


lo Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

pride is a foolish thing, and I wouldn’t hurt Lottchen’s feel- 
ings by always refusing to go in time for tea, and only going 
for the music. Of course I know music is very nice, and I 
like it dearly, and it’s very kind of the Herr to let us prac- 
tise on their beautiful piano; it has perfected our musical 
education, and I do so enjoy our weekly soiree musicale.'" 

“Yes, dear, we owe a real debt of gratitude to the good 
Herr for spending so much of his precious time in instruct- 
ing us, and our weekly soiree musicale.^ as you call it, with 
only the Herr for audience and* director.” 

“He says we are splendid in our parts; but, Denise, do 
you know I quite envy Lottchen? She has everything she 
can desire. Her papa takes her away from London every 
summer, wherever she likes to go ; she has been all over 
the Continent, and he buys her such beautiful clothes, and 
she has real jewels and lots of pretty things, and they 
have the drawing-room and two lovely bedrooms, and she 
doesn’t need to work, but do just what she likes all day. 
Now don’t regard me with that dreadfully shocked look. 
I can see that you think me mean and wicked, but I don’t 
see why the artist man should have the dining room flat, 
and Herr von Rosenberg and Lottchen the drawing-room 
flat, with lots of room and air and everything they desire, 
while six of us are compelled to exist in these two poor 
attic-rooms, with dear, dear mamma an invalid, and Con- 
nor thankful to get twelve shillings weekly for copying, 
and he works so hard too, and poor Teddy glad to earn five 
shillings weekly from the grocer, and he has been off so 
early every morning this week, poor boy; and just think 
of him being degraded in that way — and papa a gentleman 
and mamma a lady — when he should be at college com- 
pleting his education, and we should live in a handsome 
house, with servants and carriages, and should wear costly 
clothes and have everything.” 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 1 1 

“ Hush, Eva, dear; it is all the will of God; we have no 
right to rebel or question His decrees. Just think, dear, 
how thankful we should be that we have dear mamma. 
Aunt Kate, Connor, and dear Teddy. See how much 
richer we are than Lottchen, who has only her father; and 
has not our good God shown His mercy to us in many ways, 
more especially by leaving to Aunt Kate out of her money, 
which might have been all lost, you know, sufficient to pay 
for even this shelter? But here is Connor ” 

The words died away on her lips as a young man entered 
the room, on whose handsome, weary face were plainly 
written disappointment and bitterness. 

“ Come here, Connor!” came in a weak voice from a cur- 
tained recess where a bed was concealed. The invalid had 
not been asleep as the two girls had imagined, but had 
been intently listening for the opening of the door. 

The young man, who had paused to shake the rain from 
his thin clothes before entering the room, on hearing his 
mother’s voice flung down his hat, and with an effort at 
cheerfulness approached the bed. 

“You have not been successful, Connor. Nevermind, 
dear, it is sure to come some of these days. I know your 
father is alive and only waiting to get money to send to 
us. Poor father, I fear he may be far worse off than we 
are,” said the invalid gently. “He thinks your aunt’s 
money is quite safe, and he knows she would share her last 
farthing with us, as she promised to do, and. Heaven bless 
her, as she has done and is doing. ” 

The young man bent down and kissed the pale, sweet 
face of his mother. 

“ I regret,” he said, his face clouding momentarily, “ that 
I did not call upon Mr. Philipson earlier; three weeks ago 
he joined some other scientific gentlemen and sailed for 
Egypt. There is only an elderly woman in charge of the 


12 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


house; she said that she thought her master would have 
liked to see you before going away, for he spoke of you, 
expressing considerable regret at not having had our 
address.” 

Mrs. D’Arcy sighed softly. 

“ I fear, Connor, that was mistaken pride on our part ; 
but never mind, dear, our good God, who is so merciful, 
will bring light out of darkness and let my dear children 
be once more blessed with a father’s protecting care. Do 
you think there would be any good in — in leaving our 
address now with the servant ?” 

“ Once I thought of doing so, but the woman said her 
master intended being absent for two or three years, so I 
concluded to get your advice before taking any steps in 
the matter.” 

“ Don’t you think you might write to Mr. Philipson, and 
ask if any letters had come for mamma before he went 
away ?” suggested Eva. “ You would get an answer much 
quicker that way, I should think ; perhaps, if you did leave 
the address with the woman, she might neglect to send it 
to her master. ” 

Mrs. D’Arcy turned with a fond smile to the speaker. 

“You are always so clever, Eveline; I think, Connor, 
dear, that is a very good suggestion. Of course the ser- 
vant will have received instructions about forwarding any 
letters that may arrive for her master during his absence.” 

“Yes, she said Mr. Philipson was going to Alexandria, 
where he intended staying for some time, and she will for- 
ward his letters there until she receives further orders.” 

“Oh, Aunt Kate!” cried Denise, as the door opened 
and Miss D’Arcy, followed by Teddy, entered. 

“ Teddy and I met quite promiscuously, and went shop- 
ping on our own account, you see.” 

The rich, full, musical tones, unmistakably those of a 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Stri'ggles. 


13 


gentlewoman, dispelled the clouds, and every face, even 
that of the invalid, lighted up with pleasure, as all eyes 
were turned toward the speaker, whose ineffably shabby 
garments, betokening so positively the poverty of the 
wearer, could not conceal a certain elegance and grace 
which imparted a dignity that robbed shabbiness of its 
dinginess. She was young and very pretty, but the great 
charm of her face consisted more in the ever-changing 
expression, the fascination of the smiling blue eyes, the 
flitting dimples, and the delicacy of coloring than in per- 
fection of features. A woman formed to gladden and 
brighten a home; cheerful, hopeful, prayerful, ever ready 
to soothe and comfort; but as unfit to fight the battle of 
life or to face all the shifts and struggles of poverty as a 
little child. 

Kate D’Arcy could smile and suffer, making no sign; 
strong in her power of cheerful endurance, she could sit 
down, if needs be, and die Of want; but she could not go 
out into the world and struggle for bread, as thousands in 
the great city of London were daily doing around her. 

She could cheer others with pleasant words while her 
own heart was torn and bleeding; but she could not do as 
the girl by whose side she was now standing would do for 
those she loved one day not far distant. 

Teddy, a delicate boy of fourteen, approached the fire- 
side and deposited an armful of fagots on the hearthstone; 
then throwing aside his wet cap he joined the others, and 
kissing his mother, said a little shyly but with a bright 
smile: 

“Mr. Brown gave me two shillings over my wages, 
mother, because I went to the shop an hour earlier every 
day this week and did two or three little odd things, and 
he says after next month he will give me seven shillings 
every week.” 


H 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


Mrs. D’Arcy smothered a sigh and touched caressingly 
the bright, animated face of the boy with her slender white 
hand. 

“God bless my dear Teddy," she said gently. 

While Denise coaxed the few embers with the addition 
of some more fuel into a cheerful blaze, Miss D’Arcy dis- 
played her purchases. 

“Now, my dear," she said, addressing her sister-in-law, 
“you must sharpen up your appetite; see what a delight- 
ful chop we have brought you; Denise will prepare it for 
you — she always cooks your chops so appetizingly ; and 
you will take this biscuit and a nice cup of tea, after 
which you will feel quite refreshed." 

“You always consider me first, Kate; what have you for 
yourself and the children, my dear ?" 

“ What have I for myself and the children ?" Kate re- 
peated, turning her smiling face to the invalid. “Well, 
my dear, I have some of the most beautiful red herring. 
I think we shall all enjoy our tea this evening; and see, 
our clever Denise has got the kettle to boil already." 

What a change this sunbeam of a woman and Teddy’s 
seven shillings had wrought in that poor attic-room. 

By common consent, Connor’s late disappointment was 
not alluded to until after tea and the invalid had fallen 
into a refreshing slumber. 


Chapter inr. 


“ We make the world we live in, and we weave 
About us webs of good or ill, which leave 
Their impress on our souls.” 

C ONNOR was soon busy cutting bread and otherwise 
assisting Denise in preparing the evening meal, 
which served for tea and supper. Miss D’Arcy, 
seated beside the invalid, talked brightly, in the full, rich 
tones which filled the room with a pleasant music. 

Eva, still wrapped in the old shawl, was seated cozily 
beside the now cheerily burning fire, smiling and chat- 
tering gayly to Teddy while she contentedly consumed a 
slice of bread-and’butter which Connor had thoughtfully 
handed her. 

Somehow, every one considered Eveline, from the invalid 
mother down to Teddy, Eva’s junior by two years. 

No one ever seemed to think she could either work or 
want. 

When food was brought in, after the invalid she was 
first considered ; the most delicate morsels were selected 
and given to Eva. She was the pet and darling of the 
family. 

No one ever thought of sending her on a message or of 
letting her go unaccompanied into the streets of London. 

Occasionally Denise succeeded in obtaining needlework 
from a warehouse in the city; but of late this work hid 
entirely failed, and they had all been obliged to subsist on 
the pittance earned by Connor and Teddy. 

15 


1 6 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

Day after day brave Denise had gone forth in search 
of work, each morning with renewed hope and courage, 
cheerful and expectant, but only to return exhausted and 
dispirited, yet meeting with her brightest smile the loving 
mother’s eyes, that read the pain and disappointment 
which Denise could not succeed in hiding from them. 

They were all seated near the bright little fire. Mrs. 
D’Arcy was fast asleep; Connor, his elbows resting on the 
table, his hands thrust through his thick, dark hair, was 
reading by the light of a shaded lamp a “ Treatise on Men- 
tal Power, ” Miss D’Arcy, at the opposite side of the table, 
was working a piece of beautiful lace. 

This had been her favorite in-door employment in the 
days when her youth held only bright hopes and pleasant 
anticipations; when the birds sang sweetly and the sun 
shone brightly on her dear old home on the banks of the 
lovely Shannon, and life seemed one long dream of hap- 
piness. 

In her wildest fancies — and in those by-gone days, like 
other girls of her age, she had had dreams and fancies, and 
very vivid ones too — Kate D’Arcy could never have imag- 
ined anything like the present scene in connection with 
herself and her brother’s children. 

The making o'f this lace had been suggested to her by 
Denise, who hoped to dispose of it at some of the West End 
emporiums; but it progressed slowly, the daylight was so 
short and a clear light so necessary, yet she worked on 
indefatigably, the soft, white fingers moving incessantly. 
The blue eyes now bent upon her work were frequently 
turned toward Connor’s bowed head. 

Was she thinking of the happy *days fled forever, that 
the handsome eyes held such a sad, wistful expression? 
An expression which one other pair of eyes were quick 
to perceive ; those other eyes belonged to Denise, who, 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


17 


seated on a low stool, was employed in mending an old 
frock belonging to Eva. 

The most profound silence had reigned for some time, 
broken only by the scratch, scratch of Teddy’s pencil on 
his slate. Poor Teddy was never idle ; when released from 
his day’s duty at the shop he would take his books and 
slate, and, seated in the corner beside Eva, study till bed- 
time ; sometimes making extracts, at others writing short 
essays on his slate, which he submitted for criticism to 
Connor and Aunt Kate before committing to paper; while 
Eva contentedly sat and read, occasionally favoring 
Teddy with a suggestion. 

Suddenly Connor looked up, glancing toward the cur- 
tained recess, and Denise, answering that glance, said 
softly: “Yes, mother is sleeping quite soundly; I have 
just come from looking at her.” 

With a quick gesture Connor thrust aside the book he 
had been reading and clasped his hands at the back of his 
head, while the earnest gray eyes, with a new light in them, 
slowly travelled over the little family circle. 

Kate D’Arcy and Denise read that glance; and with 
woman’s ready instinct each ^knew that he was about to 
give utterance to something which she would rather he 
should leave unsaid. 

“ I was twenty-two last week, Aunt Kate. Am I not 
right ?” he said, in low, slow tones. 

“Yes, my dear!” Kate answered, moving her lace-work 
nervously. Not wishing to show any uneasiness, she folded 
her white hands lightly together and smilingly met her 
nephew’s intent regards. 

Denise dropped her work into her lap and lifted her 
dark eyes with a troubled, anxious look to her brother’s 
face, into which was fast creeping a rebellious, dissatisfied 
expression. 


1 8 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

“Yes,” he said, with inexpressible self-scorn in his tone, 
in the curl of the well-cut lips, and in the glance of the clear 
gray eyes, now turned toward the two anxious upturned 
faces. “Yes, I was twenty-two last week. I am a man, 
endowed with three glorious gifts, youth, health, and edu- 
cation; and to what use am I putting all three ? My mother 
is dying of inanition — do not interrupt me, please — and 
you, dear Aunt Kate — dear, self-sacrificing Aunt Kate — 
deny yourself the common necessities of life in order to 
keep a roof over our heads ” 

“You forget, Connor,” Miss D’Arcy interrupted hastily, 
“ that I am sharing with you the shelter of that roof ; and 
if I were deprived of the society of my brother’s children 
and their mother, who is to me as a very dear sister, I 
should be the most desolate woman on the face of the 
earth. You wound me deeply by such words, and I beg 
that you will never allude to this subject again.” 

There were tears in the eloquent eyes and in the musical 
voice as she concluded ; and Connor looked away uneasily, 
but after an instant resumed : 

“ I do not desire to distress you, and in future shall re- 
spect your wishes on that point; but let me beg you will 
listen to what I have to say, for no words can convince me 
that I am doing my duty. Look at that poor boy Teddy, 
toiling for twelve — nay, sometimes fourteen — hours daily 
for a weekly pittance of five shillings; struggling to acquire 
learning when he should be sleeping, to gain strength for 
his next day’s work ; and our poor Denise breaking her 
heart because she cannot get work to do; while I am nobly 
spending my strength, manhood, and education in earning 
the princely sum of twelve shillings weekly. Now, aunt, 
you must feel that things cannot go on like this. I must 
look for something else to do.” 

“But what can you do, Connor? You know you had 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


19 


tried everywhere, and we were all thankful when poor Mr. 
Nesbit, just before he died, got you the copying. Try to 
be patient, dear; in a month or two, you know, things 
may look brighter, and you are sure to obtain more re- 
munerative employment.” 

With a swift movement he withdrew his hands from be- 
hind his head, and springing to his feet stood his full height 
before them. Tall, handsome, with flushed face and flash- 
ing eyes, he towered above them. 

“Patient!” he repeated with a bitter laugh, but speak- 
ing in low, intense tones, even in his excitement remem- 
bering his sleeping mother. “ Have I not been patient ? 
The pity is that I am not at all Micawberish. Do my sur- 
roundings justify me in folding my hands and waiting in 
supine indifference for the end, content or, what is much 
the same, weakly submitting to see you all starve and die 
in this garret, consoling myself with the reflection that I 
am doing all I can, while my conscience cries out, God 
has given you understanding, power, the will to ” 

“ But, my dear boy, we are not dying,” interrupted Kate 
D’Arcy, “ and indeed I am convinced that the uncertainty 
of your father’s fate is the sole cause of your mother’s 
illness.” 

A dusky flush crept into Connor’s face; his straight 
black brows met in a frown. 

“We will not discuss my father, if you please,” he said 
chillingly. “ If he is dead, that is an additional argument 
in favor of my plea; I cannot imagine that he has 
willingly deserted my mother and us; therefore I am 
bound to take his place and strive to provide for those 
who, in losing him, have been deprived of their lawful 
protector. I must and shall change all this.” 

“But, Connor, dear, what can you do?” Miss D’Arcy 
asked. 


20 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 


“ What can I do ?” he repeated impetuously; “my birth 
and education have unfitted me for manual labor; but I 
would not despise even that, if I could obtain such. But 
those to whom I have applied for such employment re- 
garded me with a smile and politely declined my services. 
Do not look so horrified— I have no false pride; I would 
do any honest work, remembering that the end ennobles 
the labor. I have looked at our position from every 
point : it is difficult to get taken on in an office without in- 
terest and friends; I have concluded to try and get as 
supercargo in some outgoing vessel. I think Mr. Mansel 
would recommend me; I could leave my pay for mother 
and you, and ” 

He had broached the subject which for months past had 
occupied his thoughts, speaking with eyes averted, shrink- 
ing from reading the horror which he knew was looking 
out of the eyes of his listeners; but he paused abruptly as 
his aunt said in low, gasping tones, “ Oh, Connor, would 
you break your poor mother’s heart?” 

“No,” he answered, more quietly. “I would save her 
life ! I would take her where she would enjoy God’s glori- 
ous sunshine, free from the fogs, the smoke, and dust of 
this great Babylon, to where the sweet spring flowers 
would gladden her eyes, to where the songs of the birds 
would come to her, borne on air fragrant with the scent of 
the clover meadows and fresh green woods; to where she 
would regain health and strength, which will never return 
to her cooped up in this garret. I have resolved to do it, 
and I shall.” 

Denise had hitherto remained silent, her great, dark 
eyes fixed in mute terror on her brother’s excited face; 
she knew there were times when nothing would turn him 
from his purpose except the dear voice of the mother who 
was now sleeping so quietly, and whom she feared to 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


21 


awake. Inwardly trembling she quitted her seat, and 
approaching Connor took one of his hands in hers and 
pressed it against her pale cheek. 

“Connor, darling, do not talk about going away just 
now; it would kill dear mamma. I am sure that she will 
get better in the spring. When Father Everard called last 
Tuesday he said the cold weather was against her recovery, 
but that he was quite convinced she would rally with the 
sunshine. Wait till then, Connor; your prospects may be 
brighter.” 

Connor looked down with gloomy eyes into the agitated 
face of his sister, but the firm lines about his mouth did 
not relax. 

“ Promise me, Connor, dear, for poor mamma’s sake, 
that you will not speak of going away from us until she is 
better.” 

“You do not know what you are asking, Denise,” he 
responded coldly, withdrawing his hand from the clasp of 
the girl’s soft, clinging fingers, and studiously avoiding the 
haggard eyes so piteously regarding him. “ I will say no 
more about it now^ but I tell you once for all that our 
poor mother will never recover if she is to remain here, 
and Father Everard knov/s that it is so.” 

He turned to leave the room, but stopped short as a low 
tap sounded on the door. 

Eva looked up with a little gasp of delight. 

“Oh, dear, there is Lottchen!” she whispered. 

Denise opened the door and a young girl entered the 
room, carrying in her hand a little basket, which she gave 
to Denise with the whispered remark : 

“ For the dear mother. They will be nice and cooling.” 

Then she joined the little group near the fire, leaving 
Denise with tear-dimmed eyes that could not see the fresh, 
delicious grapes, with all the soft beauty of their delicate 


22 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

bloom intact, nestling so temptingly among their green 
leaves. 

Connor, the flush which her entrance had brought there 
still upon his usually pale face, placed a chair for the vis- 
itor, and was repaid with a smile and a word of thanks. As 
she stood for an instant in the lamp-light one got a good 
view of Lotta — or, as her father and Eva called her, 
Lottchen — von Rosenberg. 

She wore a gown of wine-colored cashmere and velvet, 
the long train of which imparted a certain dignity to the 
graceful, girlish figure, with ruffles of soft lace at her 
throat and wrists; a band of wine-colored velvet, to 
which was attached a pretty gold cross, was fastened round 
her slender white throat; her face was beautiful, with 
dainty, high-bred features, full of tenderness and power, 
with a wistful sadness in perfect harmony with the deli- 
cate creamy whiteness of her complexion. 

The clear hazel eyes were filled with a childlike inno- 
cence; her golden brown hair, fastened at the top of her 
shapely head by an arrow, was cut in a smooth fringe 
across her broad brow. There was that about the girl 
which bespoke good birth. 

Her mother, the daughter of an English baronet, had 
secretly married Herr von Rosenberg, her music-master, 
and in consequence of which rash act she had been dis- 
owned by her family. Upon discovering that the marriage 
ceremony had been performed by a Catholic priest, her 
enraged father had driven her forth from the stately home 
in which she had been born. 

The Herr was too proud to make overtures of peace; he 
never sought to be reconciled to his wife’s family — though 
poor he was equally well born ; so he took her away to a 
more humble home than any she had ever dreamed of pos- 
sessing; but she was happy in his perfect love and in the 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


23 


grand old Faith which she shared with him, and without 
which she had often declared “ life could never have been 
the same to her; in embracing it, she had found all that 
was beautiful on earth and perfect in heaven.” 

But the loving wife and gentle mother, with four little 
tender blossoms, were all laid quietly to rest in a London 
cemetery, and Lotta was left to the care of a father who 
doted upon his motherless girl. 


Chapter IFITIT, 


“ And from the latticed gallery came a chant 
Of psalms, most saintlike, most angelical, 

Verse after verse, sung out how holily. 

The strain returning, and still, still returning.” 

— Rogers. 

“'V /OU are late this evening, my dear! I hope the 
I Herr is well?” Miss D’Arcy said, looking up with 
a welcoming smile. 

“ Yes, thanks, father is quite well. I have been prac- 
tising some new music since he went out, and oh !” with her 
rare smile which gave such fascination to her perfect face, 
“I have something to tell you: you know that Father 
Brady wants to get a new altar and that his funds are very 
low. He thinks that a charity sermon might do some- 
thing toward it; that is, you know, a Grand High Mass 
and a charity sermon, but in order to achieve the desired 
end it would require to be done as inexpensively as possi- 
ble. Father Wilmot, the great Jesuit, will preach — that 
must be the only item of expense — and as Father Brady’s 
choir is more remarkable for strength than harmony, he is 
at a loss for good singers. My father has consented to 
play and direct if we promise to sing; he knows that he 
will be able to get Signor Zavertal from the Italian Opera 
to assist. There would be then the Signor, Connor, and 
Teddy, Denise, Eva, and myself, with two of the best 
singers from Father Brady’s choir; you know we are all so 
accustomed to sing together, and my father will compose 

24 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


25 


a new offertory piece for the occasion. I have half prom- 
ised for you, for I feel sure that none of you will refuse, 
and, dear Miss D’Arcy,” very coaxingly, “you have such 
a beautiful contralto voice, if only I dare ask you to join 
us.” 

“ No, my dear, you dare not. Now do not put on that 
overpowering look, it is quite thrown away upon me, I 
assure you. Seriously, Lotta, my dear, we could not all 
leave Mrs. D’Arcy, but I will go to an early Mass on that 
day, and we will do what we can. While you are in 
church singing we will be here praying for your success; 
and I am sure that the children will be happy to aid in the 
good work.” 

In the midst of the whispered consultation the invalid 
awoke, and Denise went to the recess and, drawing aside 
the curtains, lifted the basket of grapes from the little 
table upon which she had laid them, saying with a smile: 

“ See what Lotta has brought you. Are they not just 
beautiful, mamma?” 

“ How kind of Lotta,” a faint glow rising to the delicate 
face. “Is she here now? I thought I heard her voice.” 

At a word from Denise she was joined by the others, 
and Mrs. D’Arcy, wrapped in a large shawl, raised herself 
in bed and talked the projected ceremony over with sur- 
prising animation. 

An hour later Connor and Teddy withdrew to their little 
attic-room, no larger than a good-sized closet, where be- 
neath the closely slanting roof, so cold in winter and so 
suffocating in summer, stood the bed they jointly occupied. 

When they entered their sanctum, Teddy, in boyish 
fashion, talked volubly on all the occurrences of the day, 
the promised addition to his wages, how much good the 
extra two shillings would do, what he intended doing in a 
year or two, and, waxing confidential, “Would it not be 


26 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


nice, in the warm summer days, to take mother and the 
rest for a day to Epping Forest or Greenwich?” 

Then Lotta was discussed, her beauty, her unfailing 
kindness to the sick mother; Father Brady, the music for 
the Grand High Mass, and the part allotted to each, until, 
utterly worn out, he fell asleep, unconscious that he had 
done all the talking, and that, but for an occasional word 
of assent, Connor had been silent and moody. 

In the drawing-room, on the second floor, Lotta was 
seated at a little table. From time to time she glanced at 
the clock on the mantel-shelf, counting the minutes, for it 
was now close upon the hour at which her father returned 
from the Italian Opera House, where he was director. 

For his child’s sake the Herr never supped out, refusing 
all invitations, contenting himself with occasionally bring- 
ing one or two old friends to partake of a pleasant little 
repast at his lodgings; but very rarely indeed, and these 
friends, like the occasions, were exceptional. 

For the .next fortnight our amateurs met in Herr von 
Rosenberg’s drawing-room to practise Mozart’s No. 12 
Mass and a very beautiful offertory composed especially 
for the occasion by the Herr von Rosenberg. They were 
joined each evening by Signor Zavertal, the great baritone 
of the Italian Opera, who was always willing to oblige his 
leader. 

Those were pleasant evenings, during which Connor’s 
moodiness in a measure disappeared. 

It was the evening of the last rehearsal ; they were talk- 
ing over the coming event, when Father Brady, who with 
his curate, Father Everard, was present, said, with a pro- 
found sigh and one of his comical smiles: 

“ My dear friends, I feel that I am a man to be pitied.” 

“Do you fear for our success. Father?” Denise asked 
timidly, a soft blush stealing into the sweet young face. 


Co7tnor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


27 


“My dear child, that is just what troubles me, the 
knowledge that your success will fall far short of your 
merits. Imagine, if you can, my mortification,” with a 
merry twinkle in his blue eyes, “ when Montague told me 
this morning that all the tickets were sold ; and that he 
could have sold a hundred more.” 

“Then why not have more tickets struck off. Father?” 
Connor suggested, smiling at Father Brady’s mock dis- 
tress. 

“ Because, my dear boy, it would be no use unless we 
could enlarge the building; we have issued tickets to the 
extent of our accommodations. You see how much I am 
to be pitied, for the present at least, in having such a small 
church; with such singers I might reasonably hope that 
Sunday would see me favored with a congregation suf- 
ficient to fill the largest church in London.” 

“I think. Father,” Signor Zavertal remarked with a 
laugh, “ that if we, in conjunction with Father Wilmot, 
succeed in finding you a good benefit you need not envy 
others the possession of a large church.” 

“ Ah, but with such talent, my dear Signor, who will 
blame me if I plead guilty to the pardonable desire that, 
for the time being at least, I had the use of a handsome 
West End church.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t it be nice,” Eva cried, delightedly, clap- 
ping her slender white hands, “ to see lots of beautifully 
dressed people, and to ” 

Father Brady’s pleasant laugh sounded through the 
room. 

“ My dear child, I did not think of the people’s dress, 
but of the money for my new altar; do not let me be in- 
strumental in filling your mind with visions of fashion and 
folly. Miss Eva.” 

“ I am afraid. Father, that Eva is a very worldly-minded 


28 


Co7i7tor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


young person,” Connor said, with an indulgent smile and 
glance at his beautiful young sister. 

“ A face so fair might obtain pardon for a greater fault,” 
the Signor said gallantly. 

“ Eva likes all things bright and beautiful,” Denise put 
in shyly. 

Father Brady turned his now grave eyes with a kind 
smile in their depths on the youthful speaker. 

His seventy years of life had taught him many lessons. 
Accustomed to read faces, he read the face into which he 
was looking as he would have read the pages of an open 
book, and he said gently : 

“ Human natures are like flowers, my dear child ; it takes 
such varieties to make a perfect garden, and even the 
same culture bestowed impartially on all will not produce 
the same results.” Then turning to the others: 

“ I will not utter one word of thanks, but there is one 
thing of which I am convinced, that is, no such singing 
has ever been heard within the walls of my poor little 
church; and if Father Wilmot acquits himself as satisfac- 
torily as our talented choir, our Grand High Mass will be 
a grand success.” 

And it proved a success. The church was crowded to 
suffocation. The fame of the preacher and the singers 
had gone far abroad ; every spot within the edifice was 
made available; people who could not hear the words of 
the preacher spoke long after of the music; the singing, 
they declared, seemed to carry them straight to heaven. 

That winter was a very hard one to thousands in the 
great city. After a few weeks’ struggling, Denise had 
again succeeded in procuring warehouse work, and as the 
days began slowly to lengthen Mrs. D’Arcy seemed to 
revive, rising each morning about ten o’clock and not 
again retiring until darkness set in. 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


29 


The sight of her returning health brought joy once more 
into the little family circle, although there still came no 
word from the long-absent husband and father. 

The Signor Zavertal, who had taken a sudden liking to 
Connor, had striven to persuade him to join their troupe; 
he knew that he could get him an engagement. 

It would be a little slow at first, but in a few years, with 
his (Connor’s) voice, talents, and appearance, he might 
command a fortune. 

But that was not the career which Connor had marked 
out for himself. The prospect so alluringly painted by 
the Signor possessed no charm for him. He loved music 
as an art, but not as a profession ; and the Signor was not 
the sort of man of whom Connor would choose to make a 
friend. Among the very few Signor Zavertal was known 
to be a Catholic, but that he held on by the “ hem of the 
garment” was about as much as could truly be said in that 
gentleman’s favor; while Connor, with his steadfast and 
loyal nature, his ambition and proud contempt of this 
Janus-like policy, would not bestow his friendship where 
he could not give respect, and had already sketched out 
for himself a future in which the musical profession had no 
part — a future which, had he but known it, was never to 
be realized. 

The improvement in Mrs. D’Arcy’s health made Con- 
nor more hopeful; he assured himself that he should soon 
be able to convince her how necessary it had become for 
their future well-being that he should strive to make a 
home for them somewhere out of London. He knew how 
hard it would be to overcome her horror of a separation 
from any of her children; but Connor had faith in his 
powers of persuasion over his mother, and concluded to 
wait until she should be strong enough to be reasoned out 
of her objections. 


30 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


The winter sunshine struggling through the haze and fog 
of a cloudy London sky faintly penetrated their attic win- 
dow, touching the bent heads of Kate D’Arcy and Denise 
as they sat at work, glinting on the needles flying swiftly 
through their busy fingers, or flashed back an answering 
smile to the low, rippling laugh now so often heard from 
Denise’s lips. 

She was happy, for Connor had ceased to talk of going 
away, her mother’s health was improving, Teddy was 
getting on wonderfully well, and she and Aunt Kate were 
busy. 

Little snatches of hymns and songs intermingled went 
up from her glad young heart as she worked, Kate’s full, 
rich voice taking the refrain; sometimes Eva’s fresh, clear 
treble would chime in, while the gentle invalid listened and 
smiled, never looking more happy than when Lotta would 
run up for a little chat, begging leave to help them to sew, 
just a little, declaring with her sweet, rare smile that she 
quite envied them. 

And when Connor and Teddy joined the family circle 
in the evening and the former read aloud or prepared 
Teddy’s Latin lessons, all seemed happy, and for the time 
Connor forgot his longing. 

Sometimes their evenings were spent with Lotta and her 
father. Those were red-letter evenings that would live in 
their memories in the years to come, when the genial 
though sad-eyed Herr von Rosenberg would no longer 
with gentle kindness correct a false note, or with a 
fatherly little pat on her shoulder and a quiet smile say, 
“ Ach ! Denise, mein Kind, that is one note above the lark, ” 
and Denise with pretty confusion would cease to soar. 

Nature had bestowed upon Denise one of her most 
glorious gifts, and the kind German had done his best to 
perfect the work of nature, feeling an intense interest in 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


31 


Mrs. D’Arcy and her family. At first attracted to them 
by the mystic cord of faith, that attraction became a 
sincere friendship. 

The Herr formed few friendships, but these were true 
and lasting. 

He knew that Denise could make a fortune as a public 
singer, but he had a deeply rooted horror of the stage as a 
career for a pretty, innocent girl ; he would rather have 
seen his own dear Lottchen dead and laid to rest beside 
the dear, dead wife who had followed their four little 
innocent ones than know her, with all her gifts and her 
beauty, win fortune and fame on the stage. 

He had promised his dying wife that he should save 
their little Lottchen from that fate, and while God gave 
him life he would keep that promise. 

His one great trouble was what would become of his 
little girl when he should be called away. Many a bitter 
pang the thought brought to his heart, knowing as he did 
that at any hour the fatal summons might come which 
would leave her fatherless and alone in this vast unknown 
world. But he never told her this; he could not bring 
himself to darken her young life and fill her mind with the 
dread anticipation of a calamity which might be delayed 
but could not be averted. 

The Signor Zavertal had proposed for her hand, speak- 
ing eloquently of his love for her; but the Signor was not 
the man on whom he would bestow his one great treasure. 

He thought of the brother whom he had not seen since 
both were young; that brother in the far-off land, with the 
broad Atlantic rolling between them. 

Was he much changed, this brother? Would he be a 
father to his beautiful Lottchen when the father who 
loved her was called away ? 

Nothing more beautiful could well be imagined than the 


32 * 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


affection of father and daughter for each other; he con- 
sulted her on all things, and listened, well pleased, won- 
dering at the sweet, grave wisdom of her advice ; he grati- 
fied her slightest wish, shielding her from all contact with 
the outer world, its trials and temptations. 

It might be injudicious training, but it had the merit of 
keeping her innocent, and no shadow could dim the future 
if her father was by her side — that father who was to her 
the embodiment of all that was grandest and noblest in 
man. 


Chapter m 


“Work — work — work, 

From weary chime to chime ! 

Work — work — work. 

With never a resting time ! 

Hem, and stitch, and hem. 

With weary aching hand. 

Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed 
But none will understand.” 

— “ Song of the Shirt ” — Hood. 

“ TV T ISS DENISE, Miss Denise! just wait a minute, 
JY[ will you?” 

Denise paused in the act of ascending the 
stairs to their humble rooms at the top of the house, and 
turned a pale, listless face, very unlike the face of three 
weeks before, to meet the sharp but kindly eyes of Mrs. 
Norris, as she came up from the cellar-kitchen, her own 
especial region, which with the exception of a little, neatly 
furnished back room on the first floor — by courtesy desig- 
nated a parlor — was the only part of the house which she 
occupied, the rest being given over to lodgers. 

She came toward the girl with a pleasant smile. 

“ I knew your ring. Miss Denise, and when I heard you 
speak to Susan, I just thought I might as well say what I 
had to say to you, which it would save me going up them 
long stairs; Dm not as supple as I was twenty years ago. 
Miss Denise, and my legs is soon tired.” 

Mrs. Norris’ grammar was somewhat faulty, but Denise 
did not think of that. 


3 


33 


34 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


“You just came in the nick of time. I have something 
to say to Miss D’Arcy, but you’ll do as well. Just step 
into the parlor, if you please; we can talk there.” 

With heightened color and startled eyes Denise followed 
Mrs. Norris into her little parlor, where everything was 
the perfection of neatness and order. 

A bright fire in the low, well-polished grate imparted an 
air of home comfort to the little room. 

On either side of the, fireplace was a low American 
rocking-chair, into one of which at Mrs. Norris’ invitation 
Denise thankfully sank. 

She was wearied with her long walk, but no bodily exer- 
tion could have taken the power from her youthful limbs 
as did the words of Mrs. Norris. 

She turned deathly cold ; her warm blood seemed sud- 
denly frozen; and, despite the glow of the bright fire, her 
teeth began to chatter as she sank into the comfortable 
chair. She was not a coward, this gentle, graceful girl 
with the weary young face and tender mouth, but the 
brave, earnest gray eyes have a troubled, hunted look in 
their depths as they turn toward the fire. 

“What can Mrs. Norris want?” she thought. “Is she 
about to speak of the rent, which has fallen due one week 
since ? Surely she must know that Aunt Kate will not get 
her money for another three days.” 

She had always been so civil hitherto, waiting without 
demur until Miss D’Arcy’s money came to hand, that had 
Denise been less miserable she might not have felt that 
sudden sinking at her heart, even at so unprecedented an 
occurrence as the present. Although when any member of 
the D’Arcy family came in contact with their landlady she 
had always a kind inquiry or a pleasant remark to make, 
this was the first time that she had ever — unmistakably — • 
waylaid any of them; and Denise with a fast-beating 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


35 


heart waited, dreading to hear Mrs. Norris speak, lest it 
might be to tell her that they cannot have the attics any 
longer, as she had found lodgers who would pay more 
strictly up to time. But the subject of her thoughts broke 
the silence by observing cheerily : 

“ Desperately cold outside, but one don’t feel it in 
here. Quite cozy, this little parlor, when a fire’s on, 
isn’t it? I always likes to keep one on in cold weather, 
for fear of any visitors or friends dropping in. One can 
never tell when they’ll come ; they’re always flying about. ” 

“Yes, it is a very comfortable little room, Mrs. Norris.” 

And something like a sigh escaped the girl as her 
thoughts flew to the attics, where Teddy lay ill and fever- 
ish and her poor mother was wasting away for want of 
the necessities of life. 

“ Well, yes, it’s comfortable; but I likes it best when the 
fire’s got to be burned in it; you see it keeps folks from 
looking out of the window, which the view from it isn’t 
very inviting. ” 

“No, not very,” Denise assented mechanically, wonder- 
ing if it was for the purpose of expatiating on the comfort 
of a fire-warmed room that Mrs. Norris had brought her 
hither. 

“ I am rather stiff and breathless, and if you don’t mind 
I’ll sit down. Miss Denise?” 

“Oh, certainly, Mrs. Norris, do not stand, please.” 

With a sigh of relief that good lady sank into the vacant 
seat, and after a short pause said: 

“ I know you’ll wonder why I brought you here. Miss 
Denise. I want to ask you or Miss D’Arcy if you could do 
some fine needlework for a young lady; it is wanted very 
soon, and there will be a good deal of it. There is going 
to be a marriage; I think it will come off in less than two 
months, and the young lady won’t allow any of htx lingerie 


3 ^ 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


to be done on a machine; so you see you wouldn’t need to 
have anything else on hand; the payment will be good; 
you can charge your own price, and I wouldn’t stint it, if 
I was you. Fine sewing isn’t like machining, it’s hard 
work ; I always say the money earned that way is blood- 
money ; besides they’re very rich people. The young lady 
is the granddaughter of Sir Arthur Cardlyon; she is going 
to marry a great lord. I suppose you heard of Sir 
Arthur?” with a quick glance from the bright, sharp eyes. 

“ No, I do not think that I have ever heard the name 
before.” 

“Not heard of Sir Arthur Cardlyon!” in a tone of in- 
credulous astonishment. “Well, I never, and you such 
good friends with Miss von Rosenberg too; isn’t it strange 
that she should never tell you that Sir Arthur is her grand- 
father?” 

“ Sir Arthur Cardlyon Miss von Rosenberg’s grand- 
father! Surely you are mistaken, Mrs. Norris.” 

“Mistaken? I’m about the last person to be mistaken, 
I assure you. Miss Denise! I lived in the baronet’s family 
for many years, and was upper housemaid at the time that 
Miss von Rosenberg’s mamma was put away and dis- 
owned for marrying Herr Rosenberg. Oh, but Miss 
Verra was a beauty! just like Miss von Rosenberg. The 
Cardlyons are all handsome, men and women of them ; but 
though she had three sisters. Miss Verra was the flower of 
the flock. It was a terrible time when it was discovered 
that she had privately married the Herr — begging your 
pardon, miss; but you see, it was worse of all his being a 
Catholic, and she told Sir Arthur and my lady that she was 
going to become one herself ; and as she was of age they 
couldn’t hinder her to do as she liked. So she was thrust 
out of the hall, a splendid old place it is; and she went 
away to her husband, poor young thing; and after a time 


Connor D' Arcy' s Struggles. 3/ 

my lady found out where they were staying and sent all 
her clothes and jewelry after her, telling her she need 
never hope for forgiveness from them. Shortly after I 
got married, and came to London, which my husband he 
was in the leather business, and we took this house, and 
we always got in genteel lodgers. One day my young 
lady she found me out by chance; she was so glad to see 
me that she begged I would let them have the drawing- 
room flat when it was vacant. They had three pretty baby 
boys, when they came to my rooms; Miss Lottchen and 
another little baby girl was born in this house, and her 
beautiful mother and little brothers and sister died when 
she was quite a little girl. The Herr has never been the 
same man since, and though I says it, he’s as much of a 
real gentleman as if he was a born duke, and quite as 
proud as the Cardlyons; he never tried to be reconciled to 
any of them ; to be sure I don’t think myself it would have 
been any use. And though Miss Lottchen is a perfect 
angel, she has all the pride of the Cardlyons and her 
father to boot. My daughter is own maid to Miss Card- 
lyon, the daughter of Sir Arthur’s eldest son; and Bella — 
that’s my daughter — came to me in a great way about 
an hour ago, to know if I could recommend any one 
who could take in hand some fine needlework for her 
young lady, and I thought of Miss D’Arcy and you, and 
promised to speak to you and let her know what you 
said.” 

“ You are very kind, Mrs. Norris, and — and will you say 
that we shall be very pleased to do it ?” 

With a feeling of infinite relief and thankfulness, Denise 
quitted her cozy seat by the fire, and as her eyes fell on 
the pleasant, smiling face, such intense gratitude filled her 
heart that she felt like taking the ample form of Mrs. 
Norris in her arms and kissing the plump, rosy cheek. 


38 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles, 


As she ascended to their rooms, no longer pale and list- 
less, but with flying feet and eager, smiling face, Denise 
did a very girlish act. She was on the landing, close to 
their rooms, out of sight of any of the other lodgers, when 
she paused, and with a face glowing with gratitude she 
sank upon her knees, and, stretching her hands heaven- 
ward, she cried in low, intense tones: 

“ O my God, Thou art so kind and loving to us, ever 
coming to our aid, and I have been so doubting, so un- 
grateful; pardon me, pardon me, all my rebellion, and 
believe, dear Lord, that I thank Thee for this great mercy 
with all my heart and soul.” 

Then devoutly making the sign of the cross, she rose to 
her feet and went into her mother’s presence looking bright 
and cheerful. 

All week Teddy had been ill, the effects of a hurt re- 
ceived while helping to load a light van with goods. He 
now lay tossing feverish and restless on his confined bed, 
with the roof slanting closely down upon him, too ill to 
rise, and retarding his recovery by his anxiety to get back 
to the shop, lest his place should be given to another. His 
poor little earnings were so sadly needed, more especially 
so since, for the last fortnight, there had been no em- 
ployment for the willing hands of Aunt Kate and Denise. 

“ I think it’s just getting free of one trouble to make 
ready for another; if the sun ever seems inclined to come 
from behind the clouds and shine down benignly on us, the 
wind is always sure to rise’ and send them drifting over it 
blacker and more opaque than ever before; our sky is 
never unclouded.” 

Eva enunciated this remark with a pathetic little sigh 
and an expressive shiver, as she glanced toward the cheer- 
less grate in which a few embers were struggling to live — 
or die. 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


39 


“My dear Eva,” Miss D’Arcy remonstrated brightly, 
“try to think that the sun will soon be shining again. In 
a day or two at furthest we will have all this work done; 
and just think what a lot of money we shall have earned 
in the last three weeks; we shall soon be able to procure 
some strengthening food for our two invalids, and in 
another week or two Teddy will be able to resume his 
duties at the shop.” 

“And then something else is sure to happen; I always 
see that it is so. I don’t know how we are to live for a 
day or two longer; and really, auntie, I think you don’t 
care one bit. I wonder what you and Denise are made 
of; you never seem to feel cold or hunger; just look at 
my fingers, I cannot hold the needle any longer,” holding 
up the slender, childish-looking hands, which were blue 
with cold. 

“You poor little thing,” Denise said pityingly, dropping 
her work and going to Eva’s side, “don’t mind working 
any more, darling; just wrap your hands in this, and auntie 
and I will work hard to get done. The time will soon pass, 
then we shall have a nice large fire for poor mamma and 
you.” 

Connor reached over, and took the two little blue hands 
in his. 

“ You poor little grumbler, always imagining that others 
cannot feel because they are not overwhelmed with self- 
pity at every turn, and are not ready to cry out when they 
are hurt. You were never formed for enduring privations. 
Let me rub your hands, friction is good for producing heat. ” 

“ Then I do wish, Connor, that you would try it on the 
fire, and never mind wasting your energy in lecturing me; 
the benefit might be more general, you know.” 

Every one laughed at Eva’s answer, and Connor 
smoothed her golden hair caressingly, as he said : 


40 


Co7inor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


“Clever little girl; take courage! If Heaven will help 
me you will not always be in want of fire and food.” 

Eva looked up with a bright smile. 

“ I do hope you’ll soon get something better to do, Con- 
nor,” with a quaint little sigh, folding her hands together, 
into which Connor had succeeded in bringing warmth. 

“ It seems so hard that we should be so especially un- 
fortunate; just as things were beginning to look bright, 
the warehouse failed ; Denise couldn’t get any work to do, 
because she hadn’t a large deposit to leave. Teddy got 
hurt and has been lying ill for four weeks, and we can’t 
get a good doctor; poor mamma has been nearly as ill as 
ever before; and the man from whom you got the copying 
had to die.” 

“ Why, child, that was more the man’s misfortune than 
his fault ; depend upon it, had his wishes on that — to him — 
important event been consulted, he would have declined 
taking that last step, and I should have still been copying 
for him,” Connor said, with a slight laugh. 

“ And it would have been better for us, Connor, as well 
as for the' man, for you would still have been paid weekly; 
and now this man who has taken you in the place of his 
sick clerk won’t give any money till the end of the month, 
and if the sick clerk gets better you’ll have nothing to do.” 

“ My dear Eveline, what a chapter of misfortunes,” Mrs. 
D’ Arcy said, very gently. “ Why do you not enumerate 
our blessings: Teddy is recovering, and Mr. Brown has 
kindly promised to keep his place vacant; Connor will get 
more money at the end of the month than he would have 
earned at his late employment; and there is all this work 
which God has mercifully sent in place of the warehouse 
work, and which will be so much better paid.” 

“Oh, yes, mamma,” Eva responded sagely ; “ the money 
will be very good when it comes; but how we are to sur- 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


41 


vive this cold and starvation, I cannot imagine. Must all 
good be bought with pain and suffering ? How is it that 
Catholics are so much more unfortunate than others? 
There are people, lots of them, who are not of the faith, 
and they are rich and happy.” 

“ But the rich are not always happy, child ; every state in 
life has its cross.” 

“ If I were rich I should be happy. Aunt Kate, I know. 
I should not have a single cross, not even a shadow of 
one. Mrs. Norris says there are people who never go to 
any church, who do not even believe in God, that are 
wealthy and prosperous — isn’t that very terrible while 
others who are good Christians are wretchedly poor and 
afflicted ? Of course I don’t mean those low people who are 
born to want and misery; they could never be expected to 
rise out of their surroundings, they don’t want anything 
better ; they enjoy their misery and couldn’t be happy apart 
from it; but then we don’t belong to those people, and I 
dare say we are worse off than the lowest of them, and we 
should be so different; and there is poor Lottchen, her 
father brought home dying to her, and if he dies — which 
the doctor says he is sure to do — she will be all alone in 
the world ; she cannot even go to her rich old grandfather 
because she is a Catholic. Why is it that being of the 
faith entails so much suffering?” 

Her listeners looked with surprise at the childish speaker, 
and Mrs. D’Arcy answered in a tone of kind reproof: 

“ My dear Eveline, we have no right to question the 
dispensations of Providence. Our Heavenly Father knows 
what is best for us. Wealth is not always a guarantee of 
happiness, nor is poverty a sign of acceptance; to submit 
cheerfully and unquestioningly is the true Christian spirit, 
and to bear meekly the cross laid upon us, because it is 
the will of our Father. See how patiently Lotta bears the 


42 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


heavy cross that has come to her, and try to emulate her 
example. We are very poor, but I think I may promise 
that Lotta will never want a true friend while God spares 
any one of us.” 

Connor stooped, and kissed his mother’s cheek, and she 
smiled up into his agitated face. 

“ Then, mamma, dear, I alone am wanting in the true 
Christian spirit,” Eva responded. “I do not submit 
patiently, and I cannot be cheerful and sing and pray 
when I am cold and hungry. Of course, I should be 
ashamed of myself, but I cannot help it; even Teddy says 
it will all come right some day soon, and ‘God knows 
best. ’ I know He does, but it would be so easy for Him 
to make everything bright and beautiful for us.” 

“O Eva! Eva!” Kate D’Arcy cried, with a gasp of 
horror. 

“Foolish little Eva,” Connor said, with a grave smile, 
“ have you yet to learn the rneaning of ‘ Quern Deus aniat 
castigat'V* 

She looked at him earnestly for a moment. “ That is, 
‘Whom God loves, He chastises.’ ” 

“ Very clever. I think I shall make something of you 
yet. If we bear it patiently, this chastisement is sent to us 
foy a blessing. In order to be worthy of heaven we must 
endure suffering. If we had all the good things of this 
earth we would never wish to quit it, and heaven would 
be no more to us than the ancient fables of the heathens.” 

“Perhaps some rich people may feel like that,” very 
thoughtfully; “but I’m sure if I were rich I should be so 
grateful; I would want to be very good, and go straight to 
heaven when I died.” 

“Yours would be a very exceptional case, Eva,” Kate 
D’Arcy said, with a bright smile; “you would want two 
heavens. Do you think such a state of things would be 


Connor D * Arcy's Struggles, 


43 


reasonable, going straight from a terrestrial to a celestial 
heaven? Would not purgatory be a wholesome inter- 
mediate ?” 

“ But if I were very good, why should I go to purgatory 
at all, Aunt Kate ?” 

“Ah, my dear, such Utopian sentiments are pleasant 
but untenable,” Kate D’Arcy answered, with grave em- 
phasis, as she rose and collected a quantity of work. 

“ Are you going down to sit with Lottchen now, auntie ?” 

“Yes, dear; I should have gone long ago, but listening 
to your talk has made me forget my promise to our poor 
Lotta.” 

“May I go too, mamma, please?” 

Mrs. D’Arcy looked at her sister-in-law before answering. 
“Yes, dear, but be sure to return with your aunt.” 

Eva kissed her mother hastily and followed her aunt. 


Chapter \D. 


“ Cauld and weary, sad and dreary, 

Toiling on through London town.” — Old Song. 

“ O gleaming lamps of London that gem the city’s crown, 
What fortunes lie within you, O lights of London town ! ” 

“^nr^HE work is very prettily done; I am very well 
I pleased with it.” 

A soft glow of pleasure stole into Denise’s 
pale face at these words. She was standing in a Mayfair 
drawing-room. Before her was seated a girl, perhaps a 
year or two older than herself, a girl with a high-bred, 
patrician face and cold, proud hazel eyes, with golden 
hair crowning the haughtily poised head — a girl dressed 
with the most faultless taste; looking so like, yet so unlike, 
Lotta von Rosenberg. 

At first glance Denise had been struck by the resem- 
blance, but a second showed her that Miss Cardlyon’s 
beauty was by no means as perfect as her cousin’s. 

The bride-elect, as she sat idly swinging her fan, never 
imagined that this girl in the shabby, well-brushed serge 
dress would presume to criticise her or for a moment 
question her claims to perfect beauty. 

“ It was very nice of you to get all these things done in 
such good time,” she continued, in cold, clear, metallic 
tones; “I think Norris could find something more for you 
to do. I am quite sure you have not done all that I shall 
require. Miss — a — a — I did not quite catch your name, I 
think?” 

“Denise D’Arcy, madam.” 

44 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles, 45 

“What a very pretty name! You are young, not any 
older than myself, I should think.” 

“I am eighteen, madam.” 

“ Do you like sewing? But I suppose you do. Persons 
brought up to that sort of thing always do. No doubt it 
is best to be content with one’s state in life, don’t you 
think so?” 

Denise merely bowed to this insolent speech ; she was 
too exhausted by close sitting, late hours, and want of 
food to fully realize all the contemptuous scorn of Miss 
Cardlyon’s remarks and tone. Since the previous day she 
had not tasted food, added to which she had been sewing 
since an hour after midnight. 

No wonder, then, if her pulses were throbbing and her 
brain burning, or if a strange sensation began to steal over 
her. 

Ever since her entrance some one had been playing and 
singing in an inner room; and the words of the song kept 
repeating themselves and beating on her brain. She had 
heard Lotta sing it so often. When was it that Lotta last 
sang that song ? 

Was it yesterday or a month ago, or was it years and 
years since she last heard it ? What was the matter with 
Lotta that she sang so oddly ? Surely it was Lotta, and 
yet — no, no — that voice could not belong to Lotta. 

She could hear nothing, think of nothing but the voice 
of the singer. With a sudden feeling of terror she tried 
to move; the walls of the room appeared to sway and 
totter, a jardiniere near which Miss Cardlyon was seated 
seemed walking toward her. 

Pictures, statues, and furniture all appeared hurrying 
forward to crush her, the tall palm ferns waved their 
stately fronds threateningly, but above all the voice of the 
singer rang in her ears: 


46 Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 

“ She stood within her childhood’s home, 

Despair was on her brow, 

Beneath the weight of agony 
Her spirit seemed to bow. 

She stood there pale and desolate. 

The sun no longer shone ; 

Alas ! alas ! what is this earth 
When those we love are gone ? ” 

There came a sudden lull, a velvet portilre was drawn 
aside, and — 

“What is the matter? Are you ill?” in cold, clear, 
startled tones, recalled Denise to a knowledge of where 
she was, just in time to save her from fainting. 

She saw standing by her side a young lady, tall, slender, 
dressed in black, with a pretty, bright face and dark eyes 
— a little anxious now — regarding her with a look of 
compassion. 

“ Are you not well ?” the new-comer inquired kindly. 
“Sit down until you are better,” drawing forward a chair 
and with gentle authority compelling Denise to be seated. 

Miss Cardlyon pressed the knob of the electric bell, 
and a servant appeared to whom she gave a whispered 
order. 

Denise scarcely noticed the incident, and was not a little 
surprised when wine was presented to her by a tall foot- 
man. 

She hesitated, fearing its probable effects upon her in 
her present exhausted state, and at a word from the young 
lady the man placed the wine on a small gypsy-table beside 
her and retired. 

“Pray do take the wine,” the young lady said kindly; 
“ you look so pale it will do you good, I assure you. 
Have you been ill ?” 

Wishing to avoid further importuning, Denise raised the 
glass to her lips and sipped a little. The faintness had 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


47 


fled, but there was a wild fear tugging at her heart ; she 
could not remain here, in a few minutes she must take her 
departure — must she go without money ? 

Would Miss Cardlyon not pay her? 

She had requested Denise to bring her bill ; but such a 
trifling matter as a seamstress’ bill had quite escaped the 
mind of the proud heiress. 

What was she to do ? How return to the cold, dreary 
attic, where there was neither food nor fire, and where the 
dear ones were eagerly awaiting her return with means to 
procure both ? And while she quietly answered the ques- 
tions put to her by the two young ladies, her brain seemed 
on fire and a wild despair had seized upon her. 

“ I hope you feel quite better ?” Miss Cardlyon said, as 
Denise rose to go, and gracefully thanked both ladies for 
their kindness; “if not, do not go away just yet; I will 
ring for Norris to take you to her room and you can rest 
there until you are quite recovered.” 

“Thanks, very much. Miss Cardlyon; but I am quite 
better now, and would much prefer returning home.” 

Even as she spoke, she was mentally repeating: 

“What shall I do ? what shall I do?” 

It was her last resource — for the sake of the dear ones 
at home she must do it. She paused and took from a little 
morocco pocket-book an envelope, and with a deep blush 
placed it on a table close to Miss Cardlyon. 

“ Your maid said that you wished me to bring this bill. 
Have I done right?” 

There came into the creamy whiteness of Miss Card- 
lyon ’s haughty face the faintest accession of color, and the 
clear eyes were opened with a look of cold displeasure. 

Perhaps had the spoiled beauty known all the pain and 
humiliation it had cost the poor girl to speak the words, 
her displeasure would have given place to sympathy; but 


48 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


she only saw in it an act of impertinence, and answered 
with freezing hauteur: 

“Certainly! you have merely my wishes; I shall 

send Norris in the course of the week to pay you.” 

She pressed the knob of the electric bell, and a foot- 
man appeared to conduct Denise to the door. 

How she got into the street she never knew. She was ' 
all unconscious that a light snow was falling, or that a 
bitter north wind was blowing the falling particles into 
her face. She could only think of her mother and Teddy 
at home starving for want of food and fire. 

Within the last four weeks they had parted with every- 
thing to keep them all in life, and they had toiled so hard, 
so unremittingly. Aunt Kate and she, to get this work 
done, this work which when finished was to bring such 
comforts and blessings. 

She gave no thought to cold or hunger when she set 
forth bright and hopeful ; she was going to return with 
plenty of money, and all would be well again. Connor 
would get paid in another fortnight, and there would be an 
end to their misery — and now there was only the blackest 
despair before her. 

She wandered on, not knowing vrtiither she went. She 
took no heed of time; the snow continued to fall more 
heavily, the dull gray afternoon was giving place to even- 
ing; it would soon be dark, but she did not heed, she 
thought only of her mother and Teddy. Two days before 
Lotta had begged that Eva might be allowed to remain 
with her, so Eva was still with Lotta. 

Strange enough, as she wandered on the strains of the 
music and the words of the song she had so lately listened 
to in the Mayfair drawing-room kept haunting her. 

She felt like singing them aloud. 

Then some other words came to her, words they often 


Connor D 'Army's Struggles. 49 

sang at home; she paused abruptly and looked around 
her. 

A wild determination seized her, she felt like one im- 
pelled on by an invisible power — a power she could not 
resist. 

She did not know where she was; the dusk of evening 
was closing like a pall around her, lights were flashing 
through the gloom, “ the lights of London town.” 

At a little distance she saw a great hotel all ablaze with 
lights; she took a step forward, then paused — she did not 
know that a blue-coated guardian of the peace had been 
favoring her with his regards for the last few minutes. 

One thought possessed her mind : she could sing, people 
got money for singing. Mother and Teddy were starving 
at home ; she would not return without money. 

In a private room of the Albany four gentlemen were 
seated beside a table, on which were wines and choice 
cigars. 

One, a military-looking man. Captain Seymour, was 
half-hidden from view behind the Times. The Honorable 
Philip Wortly and his unfailing chum Jack Somers, smok- 
ing, while the fourth — Frank Brand — was leaning indo- 
lently back in his chair, and for want of something more 
interesting looked attentively at his shapely hands and 
well-kept finger-nails. 

“I say. Brand,” the captain cried, flinging down his 
Times and breaking in upon the silence, “ isn’t it time that 
Clifford was back ? What the deuce can keep him so long? 
He promised to be back an hour ago.” 

“Yes,” Brand answered, transferring his attention from 
his nails to the speaker, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if 
he searched till midnight.” 

“To-morrow will be a new day; could he not have 
waited till then? What’s the good of going knocking 


50 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


about unknown localities in the dark? It’s too bad, by 
George! keeping us waiting here. I promised Lady 
Nolans to present him to-night.” 

“What’s Clifford after?” Philip Wortly asked, coming 
from behind a wreath of smoke, and withdrawing his cigar 
from his lips with a look of newly-awakened interest. 

“ Promised a friend in New York to look up his wife and 
family,” Brand answered, stretching his long limbs lazily. 

■ “ Where are they ?” 

“Somewhere in London, I expect.” 

“ Couldn’t he have done it better himself?” 

“Couldn’t, my dear fellow; he has got a broken leg, 
and was laid up when we came away; Clifford promised to 
find them for him and bring them out.” 

“ What’s his name — the fellow with the broken leg, you 
know ?” 

“ Gerald D’Arcy, a splendid fellow, you bet.” 

“ A king’s son of Ireland, lineally descended from the 
‘O’Squanders of Castle Squander’ that Carleton writes 
about,” Jack Somers said, with a laugh. 

Brand slowly pushed back his hair from his forehead 
and said quietly: 

“Gerald D’Arcy is a gentleman; my uncle. Sir John 
Brand, knew the family well ; they had a splendid estate 
near that place he bought in County Limerick. Gerald 
D’Arcy was a young fellow then — not very old yet, only 
forty-four — he married a Miss O’Connor, a beauty and an 
heiress.” 

“Lucky fellow,” Jack remarked, sotto twee. 

“ As regards his marriage, yes. After a time the young 
couple came to London. He had a friend, a fellow who 
was crazy on speculations, and who persuaded D’Arcy to 
join him. For a few years everything went on well. 
D’Arcy was going to be returned for his native town, 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles, 


51 


His constituents were enthusiastic; his triumph was sure; 
but one morning poor D’Arcy woke up to find himself 
ruined by the man he had thought his friend. Everything 
was gone; even his wife’s fortune had been speculated on 
and lost. She had some valuable jewels, which she gave 
him to dispose of. His sister, a pretty young girl of six- 
teen, was residing with himself and wife when the crash 
came; she had some money, something over two hundred 
a year. She promised D’Arcy to share her last shilling 
with his wife and children. When all demands were met, 
he found himself possessed of the pitiful sum of one hun- 
dred pounds. He gave fifty pounds to his wife, and with 
the other fifty sailed to America in search of fortune. 
That was eight years ago, and for the last four he has not 
had a letter from his wife or sister. Now he is in despair. 
I have tried to show him that his letters must have mis- 
carried. He has led such a nomadic existence the last 
four years, here, there, everywhere, as it is with most 
of us fellows who leave the Old for the New World in 
search of fortune.” 

“And has this D’Arcy been successful?” 

“ Successful ? Well, I think so. After the most bitter 
battle with fortune, in one day he became a millionaire.” 

“But how? Tell us all about it. ” 

“When D’Arcy went to America he meant to succeed. 
He tried everything he could get to do. I don’t think 
any of you can understand what that comprises on the 
other side of the Atlantic; but I won’t bother trying to 
instruct you. He vowed to make a home for his wife and 
children before he should see them again, and in some 
measure atone for all his folly had lost them. At length 
fortune smiled upon him: he had a prospect of realizing all 
his hopes; he was negotiating the purchase of a very fine 
farm; he would soon have his wife and family beside him. 


52 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles. 


He wrote to his wife in high spirits, but wishing to give 
them a pleasant surprise, made no mention of his intended 
purchase, merely observing that he would not write again 
until he had a home to bring them all to. The answer to 
that letter was the last he got from his wife. He was 
anxious to get things settled and would give himself no 
rest. He worked too hard, in consequence of which he took 
fever. For months he was unable to do anything. He 
would not let the people with whom he boarded write home 
for fear of alarming his wife. He came back to life to 
find that another man had bought the farm and that his 
means were fast disappearing. Unable to work, he 
knocked about as best he could for some time, ashamed 
to write home and tell of his failure. As soon as he was 
sufficiently recovered he went further west and recom- 
menced the battle with fortune, with ever-varying results. 
About nine months ago he met Clifford in Nevada County. 
They became fast friends; he saved Clifford’s life. Two 
months after, D’Arcy was fortunate enough to secure a 
handsome farm which he purchased with some money he 
had saved. Clifford wanted him to take a loan, but he 
wouldn’t hear of it. The house on the farm was not a 
very suitable residence for ladies; so D’Arcy set about 
choosing a site, and put men on to dig a foundation for 
a handsome browm-stone house. It was just as pretty a 
spot as could be imagined; he asked Clifford and me one 
day to go over and see the place. We were standing 
watching the men, when suddenly there arose a wild shout. 
They had struck an oil-well. The news soon spread, 
offers of assistance came crowding in, and so D’Arcy’s 
fortune was made. He got a clever Yankee fellow to take 
charge, and as Clifford and I were coming to England, he 
determined to join us. We wrote and secured berths in 
the , and the day previous to her departure for Eng- 


Connor D' Arcy's Struggles. 


53 


land we arrived in New York. We all put up at the same 
hotel, and feeling rather knocked up after our long journey 
we agreed to retire early. In the middle of the night I 
was aroused by cries of ‘Fire!’ Starting up, I dressed 
hastily and rushed out of my room; in the corridor I 
encountered my two companions, who, like myself, had 
been awakened by the shouts. We found that the next 
block of buildings was in flames. 

“Poor D’Arcy, in saving the life of a woman, had his 
leg broken and got pretty generally smashed up ; as you 
may guess, he did not sail with us. His disappointment 
and anxiety threatened to bring on fever, so Clifford prom- 
ised to search up the wife and family and bring them back 
with him.” 

“Confounded hard lines for a fellow! It seems to me, 
his fortune hasn’t brought him much luck,” Jack Somers 
remarked sympathetically. 

“Nonsense, Jack, don’t be sentimental; he’ll soon get 
a broken leg mended, and the weather’s pretty cool just 
now, that will keep the fever down. But I say. Brand, 
isn’t your friend Clifford awfully rich?” 

“Rich as Croesus; owns no end of silver and coal mines; 
a splendid old place in Virginia, and — ■ — ” 

The further enumeration of his friend’s possessions was 
here cut short by the captain exclaiming: 

“By George, what a voice!” 

A breathless hush followed the exclamation. One of 
the gentlemen softly quitted his seat and opened a window, 
admitting a rush of cold air and snow-flakes, and a flood 
of melody and words were borne to their listening ears — 
words that sounded strangely out of place when sung on a 
London street: 

“ Hark! I hear the organ peals, 

O’er the tide its music steals, 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


54 

O’er the waters, soft and clear, 

Louder as our bark draws near. 

Gondolier, ah, rest awhile — 

Hark ! from yonder sainted isle 
Through the woods now darkly fair 
Softly comes the Vesper prayer. 

Hark ! I hear the organ peals, 

O’er the tide its music steals — 

Ave ! Ave ! Mother bright, 

Guard us through the coming night. 

Fainter now, as on we glide. 

Comes the music o’er the tide ; 

Darker shadows o’er us fall — 

Ave ! Mother, guard us all. 

Hark ! upon the wind it steals ! 

Hark ! the solemn organ peals 
Still along the silent way. 

Fainter till it dies away. 

' ‘ Hark ! the solemn organ peals. 

O’er the tide its music steals — 

Ave ! Ave! Mother bright. 

Guard us through the coming night.” -• 

As the first notes sounded on the chill evening air, a 
hansom cab was driven rapidly in the direction of the 
Albany, but came to a sudden stop, and a gentleman 
alighted, pausing and listening with rapt attention until the 
last notes had died away in a long, low, pleading wail, like 
the prayer of a soul in utter desolation. He had heard the 
most famous public singers, this stranger who had paused 
to listen, but the soul, the pathos which breathed in every 
throbbing note of this pure young voice stirred his proud 
heart to its very core. Drawing a deep breath, he advanced 
and dropped a glittering coin into the hand of the shrink- 
ing girl, whose timid air and snow-clad garments appealed 
strongly to all the chivalry in the man’s nature. 

With a glance of compassion at the girlish figure he 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


55 


tuined and ran lightly up the steps of the Albany, hum- 
ming the last two lines softly: 

“ ‘ Ave! Ave! Mother bright, 

Guard us through the coming night.’ 

“Ah, poor child! alone in the streets of London, and 
with such a voice! how much you need the protecting care 
of that sweet Mother whose aid you implore,” he solilo- 
quized, moved by a strange feeling of pity; but Marma- 
duke Clifford never dreamed that the voice whose music 
would haunt him in all the years to come, or that the little 
bare hand so timidly extended for his charity, were th6 
voice and hand of Denise D’Arcy, the daughter of Gerald 
T)' A.xcy the millionaire. 


Chapter IDf, 


“ All heads must come 
To the cold tomb ; 

Only the actions of the just 

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.” 

— Shirley. 

T he cold, gray dreariness of the bleak February after- 
noon had given place to the dusk of evening; 
snow was falling thickly without, and misty shadows 
were filling the cheefless attic in Charlotte Street ; but 
Denise had not returned. In vain Kate had striven to 
comfort the anxious mother with assurances of her child’s 
safety. 

“ Miss Cardlyon may have detained her — some slight 
alterations perhaps,” she suggested. But for once the 
rich voice and winning smile were powerless to soothe the 
alarmed mother. Connor returning from his office and 
finding Denise still absent, had started off in search of her. 

Lotta, who, despite her own bitter suffering, never for- 
got her friends, had twice run up to bring some little deli- 
cacies to Mrs. D’Arcy and Teddy; remarking with a faint 
attempt at a smile on the worn, haggard young face : 

“As Denise may be detained, you know, and Miss 
D’Arcy is unused to cooking, you must really take some- 
thing from me, dear Mrs. D’Arcy, and for the time being 
just try to imagine that I am Denise. Eva is reading to 
the dear father. She has been such a comfort to me; it 
is so good of you to let her stay with me.” 

How her listeners understood and appreciated the tender 
56 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 


57 


delicacy which prompted her words! Underneath all her 
efforts at cheerfulness, Kate D’Arcy’s heart was a prey to 
the most terrible fear. 

What if some mischance had befallen Denise! Such 
dreadful things happen daily in the streets of London. 
Her very soul stood appalled before the picture which her 
vivid fancy conjured. 

She could not pray — only pitiful little ejaculations went 
up from the tortured heart to the throne of mercy; again 
and again she asked herself with bitter self-accusing: 
“ Why had she not accompanied Denise to Mayfair? Why 
had she permitted the poor child to go such a distance, 
alone, through the streets of London ? True, she had gone 
alone before, and no harm had come to her, but now 
something must have happened.” 

She was glad of an excuse to steal out and hurry away 
to the church, which she knew would be open for confes- 
sions at that hour; she could not pray in any set form of 
words, but she could fling herself at the feet of her dear 
Lord in the Holy Sacrament. He could read her heart. 
He could give her peace and send their brave, innocent, 
darling Denise safely back to them. 

Animated by this hope, she hurried out into the gloom 
and snow, heedless of her thin, worn shoes, and indifferent 
to the pitiless wind that sent the snow drifting merci- 
lessly into her face, feeling a great sense of gratitude to 
Lotta for remaining with the invalids. 

Meantime Lotta, thankful for the opportunity thus 
afforded her, hastened to take advantage of Kate’s 
absence. After whispering a few seconds with Teddy, 
whom she presently left blowing vigorously at the few ex- 
piring embers in the dreary-looking grate, she hurried from 
the room, and soon returned, dragging between the two 
little white hands a large scuttle of coals. 


58 


Connor D ’Aroy's Struggles. 


Half an hour later, when Kate returned, brightness and 
warmth had chased away the coldness and shadows; the 
lamp was lighted, a large coal-fire was blazing and flashing 
in the grate, close to which Mrs. D’Arcy’s chair was 
drawn; the kettle was boiling che,erily, and the table, 
drawn up to the fire, was spread for tea; while Lotta, her 
pale face glowing with the haste she had made, was butter- 
ing muffins, which Teddy was employed in toasting. 

What a change was here ! 

A great joy flashed into Kate’s face, an ineffable sense 
of gratitude surged through her heart. One swift glance 
she cast around the now cheerful room; then, as if an icy 
breath had blown over her, all the color and gladness 
faded, leaving her ashen pale, and the clear blue eyes were 
turned upon Lotta with a mute, questioning horror in 
their depths. 

“ She has not come yet, dear, but she will be here soon,” 
Lotta said, answering that look. 

“See! We are quite ready, Teddy and I. We knew that 
Denise would be lost with cold, and as we saw that you 
were unnerved, we decided to save you all trouble.” 

For Mrs. D’Arcy’s sake Kate struggled to appear calm; 
but tears of gratitude filled her handsome eyes as she 
looked around her, and without a word she 1:ook Lotta 
in her arms and kissed her smooth cheek. 

“Ah, here they are, thank Heaven!” Lotta suddenly 
cried, disengaging herself from Kate’s embrace, and a 
glad cry rang through the room as Connor, loaded with 
parcels, and Denise, clinging to his arm, entered. In an- 
other moment the latter was kneeling by her mother’s side, 
kissing the thin white hands and sobbing and laughing by 
turns. 

“I missed my way,” she tried to explain between her 
sobs. “ My head felt so strange, the noise confused me, 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


59 


but oh, I was so glad when I saw Connor, and — and I am 
quite safe now, mamma, dearest, and Aunt Kate,” as the 
latter bent down and tenderly kissed her. 

“ Now, Denise,” Lotta said, gently drawing the kneeling 
girl to her feet, “just see how wet you are. You will give 
the dear mother cold; let me take off your jacket. Here 
is Teddy with a hot cup of tea and a warm muffin ; sit down 
and take them just at once; the tea will keep you from 
taking a chill.” 

Denise, still dazed by her late experience, mechanically 
obeyed; then glancing around her in utter bewilderment 
for the first time since her entrance perceived the glowing 
fire, the temptingly spread table, and the look of home 
comfort which pervaded the room, and that Teddy, his 
pale, thin face glowing with delight, his dark eyes un- 
naturally large, the combined effects of his late illness and 
inanition, was standing before her, holding in one hand a 
cup of tea, in the other a plate of muffins. 

At that instant Connor entered from the little room, 
where he had gone to change his wet coat lest the damp 
arising from it might injure his mother. 

“How is this?” he said, glancing around in surprise. 
“ I thought that — that ” 

“That we had neither food nor money; it was so until 
Lotta brought light out of darkness,” Kate answered 
softly, a great light shining in her eyes. A dusky flush 
mounted to Connor’s brow; he turned to look for Lotta, 
but Lotta had quietly escaped. 

No one dreamed that Denise had not been paid for the 
work which she had taken away that morning; or that the 
money which she blushingly dropped into her mother’s lap 
had been earned by singing on the streets of London. 
Not until a week later, when one day Bella Norris came to 
pay Miss Cardlyon’s bill, did Kate come to know the 


6o 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


truth. Then with tears and blushes Denise confessed to 
her aunt what she had done for the sake of her mother 
and Teddy. 

“It must remain a secret between you and me,” Kate 
said, kissing away Denise’s tears. “Your dear mother 
must be spared the knowledge of that which would prove 
the last drop of bitterness in her most bitter cup.” 

Days and weeks passed, and although Marmaduke Clif- 
ford in his unceasing search for the D’Arcys had twice 
encountered Connor — had even on one occasion paused to 
apologize for running up against him — each went on his 
way unconscious of what the other held for him, or that 
the mention of a name would have brought the most in- 
tense happiness to so many — a happiness which at least 
one faithful heart was never to know in this life. 

Truly the ways of Heaven are inscrutable. 

Lotta seldom visited the D’Arcys now; she could not 
leave her dying father. Night and day she sat by his bed, 
sometimes reading to him, sometimes talking in her low, 
sweet tones; but always watching for every change on the 
beloved face. 

“ Lottchen, Herzliehchen [heart’s dearest love], I do not 
fear to leave you‘now, since he has promised to be to you 
a father,” Herr von Rosenberg said, touching Lotta’s 
bowed head with his thin, almost transparent fingers. 
“ Franz was always good and true; there will be no one to 
come between you and his love; you will always remember 
that he is your uncle, the brother of the father who in life 
loved you as a precious gift from Heaven, and who in 
death blesses you with his last breath. For my sake, mein 
Herz [mine heart], you will love him, but do not forget thy 
poor father, Lottchen,” a yearning, wistful pathos in the 
dying eyes, bent so tenderly on the drooping figure kneel- 
ing by the bedside, the face hidden from view, and only 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


6i 


an occasional smothered moan telling of the storm of de- 
spair and anguish which threatens to rend the soul from 
the slender, girlish body. 

Lotta had knelt thus for over an hour, ever since Father 
Brady had departed, after bestowing the last blessing upon 
the soul so soon to render an account of its stewardship. 
At the last words she raised her head and with a sudden 
passionate gesture kissed his cold hand. 

O mein Vater^ ich habe dich so unendlich lieb ! " [O my 
father, I love thee so intensely !] she cried. “ I shall 
never forget thee, never, never!” 

“ I know thou wilt not, mein liebes Kind.'* 

She flung out her hands with a passionate cry. 

“Why will not our good God leave thee to me, or in 
taking thee take me also ? In all the world I have but 
thee!” 

In her weeks of bitter anguish and suffering these were 
Lotta’s first words of rebellion. 

How altered the young face had become during those 
weeks of watching! The cheeks were thin and pallid, the 
beautiful eyes were sunken and haggard, with heavy blue 
waves beneath; every feature bore the impress of the 
agony which wrung her soul. 

All through this illness which had struck down her be- 
loved father with such appalling suddenness, she had 
bravely fought against any outward display of emotion; 
she had listened silently, and even called a smile to her lips, 
when he spoke of leaving her for that other world, and 
of meeting the dear ones who had gone before. She had 
written, at his request, a letter to the brother with whom 
her father had parted when both hearts were filled with the 
glowing hopes and aspirations of early manhood, when to 
each young and sanguine mind the world appeared an 
enchanted land — a land of fairest promise, which to willing 


62 


Connor D' Arcf s Struggles: 


hands and determined wills must yield a golden harvest 
and the fruition of their desires. So to this uncle, whom 
she had never seen, Lotta had written — her father dictat- 
ing, begging his brother for the love of the old days to be 
a father to his little Lottchen when he was gone. 

Franz von Rosenberg had written back gladly accepting 
the charge; he was alone and childless, and she would be 
to him as his own daughter. 

Poor Lotta had hoped against hope, she had prayed un- 
ceasingly that her father might be spared to her, but all in 
vain were her prayers. Slowly the conviction of this 
dawned upon her soul. 

She would not add to his suffering by any display of her 
anguish, but now that the hour had come when she must 
part with him for all time, never more in this life to hear 
the dear voice, never more to look upon the dear face so 
fast fading from her sight, never more to know his protect- 
ing care, her lips refused to be longer silent, and her heart 
cried out in fierce rebellion. Why should he who is so 
good be taken, while others so unworthy were left to cum- 
ber the earth? What had she to live for? 

Lottchen, 7nein Herz^ it cannot be,” said the dying man, 
and the sound of that voice quenched the last spark of 
rebellion in the young and hitherto untried heart. 

“ We must submit. Who knows for what the good God is 
reserving thee ? Be faithful to Him, to our holy faith, and 
to all I have striven to teach thee! Do thy duty faith- 
fully, unswervingly, and as I bless thee, so shall Heaven 
bless thee with its choicest blessings. Our good God is 
giving liebes Kind a father in place of the father He is 
calling away.” 

“Oh, forgive me — forgive me!” the poor girl moaned. 
“ I have troubled thee, rnein Herz; I am so cruelly selfish.” 

“ Selfish ! Ach^ nein^ that mein Lottchen could never be. 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 63 

The tender heart is sore, but the loving mother who 
suffered so cruelly here on earth will comfort thee when I 
am gone. Then write to thy uncle, go to him at once. 
Do not linger here. Avoid the Signor Zavertal. Connor 
and our friends will see thee safely on board; and — and 
tell Franz for my sake to love thee — and be kind to — 
to ” 

She sprang to her feet, and caught him in her out- 
stretched arms as he sank back, a smile of ineffable peace 
on the noble face, where the shadow of death already 
rested. 

Hearing the suppressed cry of agony that escaped from 
Lotta’s sorely tried heart, Kate and Denise came quickly 
from the adjoining apartment. 

But although the warm-hearted composer had spoken 
his last words on earth, the end had not yet come. In 
silent prayer all three watched by his side, until a low sigh 
told them that the soul had passed to the eternal shore. 

The continued strain on heart and brain could no longer 
be borne. Lotta sank down insensible. 

With gentle tenderness loving hands raised the lifeless 
girl, and carried her from the chamber of death. 

In this her hour of bereavement Lotta received many kind 
offers of assistance from those who had been her father’s 
friends; offers whose sincerity was all the more reliable 
coming as they did from the Bohemian side of “society.” 
She was deeply touched, and, while gratefully declining 
their offers, assured those friends that her dear father had 
left her sufficient money for all her wants, and that she 
was going to the best of protectors, her uncle in the West- 
ern States of America. 

All save the Signor Zavertal thought the arrangement 
a good one for the lonely girl ; he was angry and disap- 
pointed, for he had looked upon this as his opportunity. 


64 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


He assiduously sought to dissuade her from her purpose, 
using every argument at his command, and picturing in 
forcible language the uncongenial life before her. 

“You are very good. Signor, and I thank you for the 
interest you express in my welfare,” Lotta said coldly, 
almost haughtily, feeling somewhat irritated by his per- 
sistence. “ But I should go, were it to a Siberian desert, 
since my dear father wished it so.” 

There was no appeal against that decision, yet he would 
not relinquish all hope until she decidedly refused to see 
him. 

Lotta’s preparations were all completed; Mrs. Norris, 
assisted by Denise, had packed her boxes, and during the 
operation the good soul had never ceased weeping. 

“Don’t leave us for another month. Miss von Rosen- 
berg; don’t, my dear young lady,” she pleaded in a choked 
voice. “You ain’t fit to go upon the ocean, which they 
do say is the stormyest of ’em all, no more you ain’t. 
Haven’t Miss D’Arcy just been a-telling you what the 
doctor said? Why, you haven’t any more strength than a 
day-old infant, that’s what you haven’t. You’ll be ill, my 
dear, and what’s to become of you then, all alone on the 
wild stormy ocean? You want time to recover from your 
trouble; you want to sleep and eat, and ” 

“There is no use trying to frighten me, Mrs. Norris,” 
Lotta interrupted gently; “ I am not going to be ill as you 
predict. There will be plenty of people on the vessel and 
I shall not be alone. I promised the dear father that I 
should go as soon as I had had a letter from my uncle, 
and that letter has come — such a kind letter. He will 
meet me at New York. I could not disappoint him, you 
know; so I shall sail on the Teutonic.'" 

Mrs. Norris shook her head dolefully, and heaved a 
profound sigh as she looked at the slender, graceful form 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


65 


in its trailing crape gown, and the pathetic wistfulness of 
the perfect face. Denise, a great sympathy and tender- 
ness in her eloquent face, a troubled light in her clear gray 
eyes, stood by her side, the fingers of both hands interlaced 
and resting on the shoulder of her friend. 

“ If you would write to your uncle, Lotta, darling, and 
say you are too ill to take a long sea voyage for another 
week or two," Denise urged tenderly. 

“ But I am not too ill, Denise. Why should I put off 
the inevitable ? Every hour I stay makes it harder for me 

to go. I promised the ” she swayed suddenly as if 

about to fall, and Mrs. Norris caught the fainting girl in 
her motherly arms and laid her on a couch. 

Lotta did not sail on the appointed day, and the breath 
of May was wafting sweet odors over the land when she 
took her last look of the weeping friends who had come to 
see her off, her last look of the shores of England — the 
land of “ her home and her dead.” 

5 


Cbapter \t)1Fir. 


“ God of my sires ! o'er ocean’s brim 
Yon beauteous land appears at last ; 

Raise, comrades ! raise your holiest hymn, 

For now your toils are past. 

See o’er the bosom of the deep 

She gayly lifts her summer charms, 

As if at last she long’d to leap 
From dark Oblivion’s arms.” 

— D. Moore. 

N ew YORK at last! But not as Columbus hailed the 
first glimpse of that fair land — not as the poor 
immigrant, to whom that bounteous land seems a 
veritable “ Land of Promise” — did Lotta greet the first 
sight of the land which held her future home. She was 
oppressed by a sense of loneliness, of desolation, as she 
stood apart from her fellow-passengers and gazed wist- 
fully out toward the green fields and villages on Staten 
Island, as the stately ship sailed up through the Narrows, 
and on the tall roofs and spires of the Empire City. 

Like one in a dream, she saw the animated faces around 
her — little groups talking, laughing, bantering each other 
gayly ; but amidst the general excitement she felt strangely 
alone. 

“ You will soon be released from the monotony of life on 
shipboard, Miss von Rosenberg,” said a bluff, cheery 
voice at her elbow. “ I have no doubt you will be thank- 
ful to get away from us.” 

“ Indeed I shall not. Captain Hunter,” Lotta said, greet- 
66 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles, 


67 


ing the speaker with a smile. “ It has been very pleasant, 
and you have been so kind to me that I feel like losing 
friends when I think of going away from you and good 
Mrs. Mullins; and I must not forget to include the 
doctor.” 

“ I am very glad that you have had a pleasant time, Miss 
von Rosenberg; but as for the doctor,” with a good- 
humored laugh, “ the weather has been so fine that he has 
had very little chance of practising his healing art, and I 
am afraid that the sight of your pale face had led him to 
imagine that he would find a patient in you. Mullins is a 
good soul ; she has been stewardess aboard this ship ever 
since her husband. Jack Mullins, was lost in a storm on 
the Irish coast. Her mother, a decent old body, lives in 
New York, and Mullins makes her home with the old lady. ” 
It must be a great comfort to have a mother,” Lotta 
said wistfully. 

“Ah, yes. Miss von Rosenberg, a good mother’s a safe 
anchor in time of storm,” the captain answered, with real 
feeling. “In a few minutes we will pass quarantine,” he 
added, “and you will soon see your uncle.” With a word 
of kindly encouragement he hurried away as the quaran- 
tine yacht steamed across the bay to the steamer. 

There was a rush upon deck and a good deal of lively 
talk among the passengers; and soon the great ship was 
steaming proudly up the bay to the city. 

It was all so novel to Lotta, who soon became interested 
in the immigrants. She had never imagined such a scene, 
and watched with fascinated eyes the eager, hurrying 
throng, in which man in every stage of life was repre- 
sented, from the unconscious babe of a few weeks old to 
the aged and weary who had crossed the ocean to their 
children or their children’s children and to new homes in 
the New World. 


68 


Connor D' Arcy^s Struggles. 


They were for the most part Irish, and one in faith 
with her, those immigrants; and as she gazed her heart 
went out to them, moved by a great pity for their misfor- 
tunes. They had suffered — yes; but — “Would they 
ever forget their own old land, though wealth should 
gladden the new ?” she wondered sadly. 

People were running hither and thither about her decks 
as the steamer swung into her berth at the Bremen pier, 
and a general rush was made for the gang-plank. 

The noise and bustle, the running up and down of 
porters, the confusion and jostling, the babel of voices and 
rattle of vehicles, the yelling of newsboys, their mocking 
laughter and smart, sarcastic remarks, mingled in one wild, 
ear-splitting tumult. With a little shiver of newly awak- 
ened alarm Lotta closed her weary eyes to shut out the 
hurrying, seething crowd, and asked herself, would her 
uncle never come? As if in answer to her unspoken ques- 
tion the captain and stewardess came to her side. 

“Your uncle is not here. Miss von Rosenberg,” Captain 
Hunter said, with evident concern, “ nor any message 
from him. I have communicated with the principal hotels 
and boarding-houses. So far as I can learn he is not in the 
city. There may have been some delay. It often happens 
that parties coming from a distance are not up to time for 
us; but you must not distress yourself, your uncle will be 
sure to turn up all right some time to-day or to-morrow.” 

“ Not arrived yet ? What shall I do ?” Lotta cried, in 
deep distress; the lonely young heart yearning for the dear 
father who in life had shielded her from every care, from 
every harm. 

For the first time in her life she found herself alone in 
the midst of strangers, in a strange land. No wonder that 
she shrank from descending that gang-plank and turning 
her back upon the great ship, which now seemed to her an 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles, 


69 


ark of refuge, and going forth into an unknown world — no 
wonder that she raised her startled eyes, with the old, 
childish wistfulness in their clear depths, to those two kind 
faces, and repeated in a tone of dire dismay: “What 
shall I do?” 

“Now, don’t distress yourself, miss, dear,” Mrs. Mul- 
lins said, in her kind, motherly way ; “ sure it often hap- 
pens, as the captain says, that when they’ve a long 
journey to come, as your uncle has to do, there’s a mis- 
take in the trains, or something that delays them; but it’ll 
all come right, never fear. With the help of God, you’ll 
be seeing him to-morrow or the next day ; so keep up your 
heart, my dear young lady, and just say what you’d like 
to do till he comes. ” 

“ Do ? Oh, I really do not know, Mrs. Mullins. What 
can I do, captain ?” 

“ Do !” repeated the captain, meeting the innocent, 
appealing glance with a smile of kind encouragement. 
“ Why, make yourself as happy as possible. I will place 
you safely in any hotel you may choose to go to, and we 
will make it all straight for your uncle when he goes to the 
office. You know Mullins and I promised to see you 
taken care of, and we are bound to see our ship safely 
into port. ” 

“You are very, very kind. Captain Hunter. I do not 
know in what words to thank you. I am afraid you will 
think me very foolish, but I must tell you, even if you do 
laugh at me. I am a shocking coward, and shrink from 
the thought of going to stay by myself in one of those 
great hotels. Now, dear Mrs. Mullins, Captain Hunter 
has told me that your mother lives in New York. Don’t 
you think that I could stay with her until my uncle comes? 
I am accustomed to you, and I am sure I should like her.” 

“Well, indeed, miss, we’re very plain, homely people,” 


70 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


responded the good woman, confused and flattered. “ If 
me poor mother’s house was a palace, let alone the kind it 
is, sure and ’tis proud I’d be to take you to it; but it’s 
not a house fit for the likes of you, at all, at all !” 

“ But I am sure I should be very comfortable with your 
mother,” Lotta urged. “Do help me to convince her. 
Captain Hunter.” 

“ I can vouch for the old lady’s respectability. Her 
house is not large, but she lives alone, and if you can put 
up with her accommodations, I am quite sure, my dear 
young lady, she will do her level best to insure your 
comfort.” 

So the captain’s answer turned the balance, and the 
stewardess’ objections were soon overruled, to Lotta’s 
intense satisfaction. 

No. 24 Rose-Myrtle Street was one of a long block of 
red brick houses; the street itself was a quiet little street, 
turned off from one of the city’s great thoroughfares. 
The door, which was reached by a short flight of steps, 
was painted a dull brown, as were also the sashes of the 
not too large windows, which were shaded by pretty, 
clear muslin curtains, behind a row of bright red flower- 
pots, in which bloomed pink and crimson roses, fragrant 
musk and glowing geraniums; while in a cage of wonder- 
ful foreign workmanship a little fluffy ball of gold poured 
forth a strain of sweetest melody. 

Strangers passing through Rose-Myrtle Street usually 
paused to bestow a second glance on the neat window and 
its cheery inhabitants, the beautiful blooming flowers and 
the sweet singing bird. 

As the cab dashed up to the house the small door was 
flung open from within, and a little elderly woman, in a 
dark calico gown, large white apron, and snowy cap, stood 
on the top step. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. yi 

In an instant Mrs. Mullins had the little figure in her 
arms, and was kissing and whispering at one and the same 
time. 

In Lotta’s troubled heart the dreary sense of desolation 
seemed redoubled when, from her seat in the cab, she 
witnessed that tender meeting. 

In all that great city, with its thousands of joyful or 
sadly throbbing hearts, there was not one to bid her wel- 
come to that new land. 

‘ ‘ Alone she sat — alone ! that worn-out word, , 

So idly spoken and so coldly heard; 

Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known, 

Of hope laid waste, knells in that word — alone!” 

A small chirping voice — like the cheerful noise of birds 
— speaking words of welcome ; two little hard brown hands 
grasping hers, and Lotta was drawn from the cab into the 
house. 

“A thousand welcomes, dear; shure yer jist smothered 
with the hate and the dust. Micky agra,” to the driver, 
“will ye jist carry the young lady’s trunks upstairs to the 
first bedroom, and put that bag on the wee table in the 
kitchen? This way, miss, dear; it’s sich a bit strip of a 
lobby that they do be tellin’ me that it’s only fit for 
a wee cratur like meself to be passin’ in an’ out av. Now 
here we are; sit down, plaze, in that chair beside the 
winder, and we’ll have a cup of tay in five minutes. 
That’s right, Mary, dear, take off her things an’ put them 
in the bedroom, while I see about the tay; the kettle’s 
been singing the ‘Groves of Blarney’ this last hour.” 

With a merry little laugh she hurried away, followed by 
her daughter carrying Lotta’s wraps. 

Not alone! Thank Heaven, not alone! — with these 
two warm-hearted women attending upon her. If her 


72 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


present surroundings were humble, she would at least be 
comfortable and less lonely with the mother and daughter 
than in any of the great hotels. 

The quiet of the little house was strangely soothing 
after the hurry and tumult of the last few hours. It was 
so good to be once more on terra firma. A feeling of 
peaceful serenity stole into her troubled mind. Letting 
her head rest against the back of her chair, she slowly 
rocked herself and listened to the little feathered songster 
overhead. 

Presently Mrs. Mullins made her appearance carrying 
a well-filled tray. 

“As you are my mother’s guest. Miss von Rosenberg, 
she hopes you’ll not feel offended at her treating you like 
one of her own children,” she said, as she proceeded to 
cover a table with snowy damask and deftly arrange a 
tempting tea. 

“You’ll not mind, now, will you, my dear?” 

“ But, indeed, I will mind very much, Mrs. Mullins, for 
I cannot find words in which to thank your kind mother 
and yourself for the welcome you have given to me — a 
stranger!” Lotta answered, tears filling her beautiful sad 
eyes. 

“ Now don’t say that, miss, dear. Do you think we 
don’t know the honor you’ve done us ? Now you won’t be 
offended if I tell you what my mother has been saying 
about you, will you ?” 

“I think I may safely promise that I will not,” Lotta 
responded, with a smile. 

“ Now mind you promised. She says, you look like a 
beautiful young princess, come to visit a poor little woman 
in her cabin,” Mrs. Mullins said, with a good-natured little 
laugh, anxious to amuse Lotta. 

“Have you made the acquaintance of Bob yet, Miss 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 73 

von Rosenberg? Now mind, Bob, you must make great 
friends with this young lady.” 

Bob set his little yellow head on one side, fixed a black 
eye on the new claimant for favor, coolly considered the 
matter, polished his beak vigorously, then hopped round 
to the sun-flooded window, flirted out one wing defiantly, 
and burst into song. 

The little room was dark and shadowy when the trio 
separated for the night. Bob had folded his soft wings 
over his little golden head, the atmosphere was heavy with 
the breath of the sleeping flowers, and Lotta had heard the 
simple story of her entertainers. 

Good-nights were exchanged, and Mrs. Wood preceded 
her young lodger up the narrow staircase to a tiny room, 
very little larger than a closet, by courtesy called a bed- 
room. 

Simply furnished, but spotlessly clean, a small iron bed- 
stead, a little washstand, a table covered by a snowy 
cloth, on which stood a cherry-framed looking-glass, a 
miniature bureau, and one splint chair, completed the 
furniture of the room, in one corner of which Lotta’s 
boxes were carefully piled — the furniture, but not the 
adornments. 

At the head of the bed, within easy reach, hung a white- 
and-gold font ; a branch of palm behind the gold cross. 
Above the little washstand was a neatly framed picture of 
“ Our Lady of Perpetual Succor,” and on top of the bureau 
was a plaster cast of the “ Mother of Sorrows.” This last 
appeared to be an object of special veneration, for it was 
covered by a glass shade and rested on the preserved skin 
of a once gay-feathered denizen of the Australian woods. 
On either side the sweet, mournful figure stood — sentinel- 
like — a curious little vase filled with white feather flowers. 

“ It’s not what ye’re used to, miss, but it’s clane and 


74 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles. 


nate,” said Mrs. Wood, placing the light she carried on 
the bureau and drawing down the blind. “ 'Tis meself 
wishes it wus finer for yer sake, me dear.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Mrs. Wood, I shall be very comforta- 
ble.” 

“ Och, thin, if ye’re plased that’s everything. Jist say 
yer prayers there, mavourneen” pointing to the statuette, 
“and the blissed Mother of God’ll help ye, niver fear. 
Isn’t she the mother of the orphan and the comfort of the 
widdy? She’ll change yer dhread to joy, blessed be her 
name foriver and iver, amen!” with which pious valedic- 
tion the old woman disappeared. 

Long and fervently Lotta prayed, and when she rose 
from her knees a great peace filled her heart. She could 
not retire until she had written to the D’Arcys, telling 
them of her safe arrival and temporary disappointment in 
the non-appearance of her uncle, and promising to write 
full particulars of her voyage in a day or two. 

Having sealed and addressed her letter, she raised the 
blind, opened the little window, and leaned out. 

A cool, refreshing breeze stole up from the Hudson, 
bearing on its wings a sweet greeting from thfe distant 
wooded heights, bringing a loving message of welcome to 
the stranger from the simple flowers that bloomed in the 
heart of the primeval woods, and from the silver stream- 
lets that murmur so gently in their dreams. 


Chapter tDIflTir. 


** Shone the white stars through the lattice — • 

Sighed the night wind low and sweet — 

Rolled the river through the lindens, 

Like the rush of many feet ; 

But the dead face answered only 
With the same look strange and far, 

With that mouth set white and smiling, 

Fixed and changeless, like a star.” 

I N a handsomely furnished apartment at the Albany — 
where the two young men had chambers — Marmaduke 
Clifford and Frank Brand were conversing earnestly. 
The latter gentleman was standing, leisurely smoking a 
cigar, while from behind the gracefully curling wreaths of 
smoke he thoughtfully watched his friend, as he lay back 
in the depths of an easy-chair, with a look upon his face 
which went far to say that Marmaduke Clifford was not in 
a mood to enjoy the luxuries by which he was surrounded; 
yet though by no means a Sybarite he was fastidious to a 
degree. 

“You are still unsuccessful, then?” Frank Brand in- 
quired, lightly filliping the ash from his cigar. 

“Still!” with an impatient movement of his shapely 
hand. “ It seems to me that I am as far off gaining a clew 
to their whereabouts as I was on my first arrival in' this 
land of fogs and rain.” 

“ Don’t abuse the old land, Clifford, if we have had little 
but rain, snow, and fogs, since we landed; it’s not fair.” 
“Perhaps not,” with serene indifference; “the land is 
75 


76 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


nothing to me; never has been, you know. The present 
object of interest and of real importance is the finding of 
the D’Arcys, and the fact that I must home at once. 

What will poor D’Arcy think? It is most surprising that 
none of those advertisements have been answered ; surely 
some member of the family must read the newspapers.” 

“ Has it ever occurred to you, Duke, that they may 
have left the city ?” 

“Yes, I did imagine such a possibility, and in one of 
my letters to D’Arcy I suggested a doubt of their being in 
London ; but in his answer he assured me that his wife had 
promised they should remain here until he should come, or 
send for them. It might have been all well if that Mr. 
Philipson had not been smitten by the travelling mania, or 
if the old woman he left in charge had not taken a notion 
to visit her daughter at Chelsea. Maternal feelings are so 
strong in the bosoms of some old women, you see, in o’-der 
to prove her affection ‘ she foolishly appropriated the 
malady from which her daughter was suffering, and — 
died.” 

“And the daughter still lives, I presume.” 

“ My dear Brand, your presumption is most undeniably 
correct; worse luck; if the old woman had not been so 
affectionate, she might have been alive yet to answer my 
questions.” 

“ Are you quite sure she could have told you anything 
bkely to help you ?” 

“Yes, I know that she could have helped me very 
materially. The people in the next house were very civil, 
indeed, took quite an interest in my success, and procured 
me Mr. Philipson’s address from a friend in Curzon Street; 
their footman had seen young D’Arcy talking to Mr. 
Philipson’s housekeeper. He had been struck by the ex- 
pression on the young man’s face as he turned from the 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


77 


door, and had passed some remark upon it to the woman, 
who explained that the young gentleman was disappointed 
at not finding her master at home, and that there was 
something about letters which his mother was expecting. 
You see there could be no mistake, as she also informed 
the footman that the young gentleman’s name was Mr. 
Connor D’Arcy. As soon as I got his address I wrote to 
Mr. Philipson begging him to let me have the address of 
the D’Arcys, which I knew he must have, as Connor had 
called a second time at the house, and left a letter to be 
forwarded to him. It is quite two months since I dis- 
patched that letter, to which, as yet, I have had no answer. 
Now you see this letter” — pointing to one on a table 
beside him — “compels my immediate return home; and 
to return with my promise to D’Arcy unfulfilled distresses 
me deeply.” 

“ Yes, I know how you feel about it, old man. But why 
not engage a detective?” Mr. Brand suggested, lighting 
a fresh cigar, and watching his friend. 

“A detective! Heavens above, man! To what end?” 

“There, my dear Duke, don’t look so horrified; there is 
nothing in my suggestion to appal your refined sensi- 
bilities.” 

“ But they are not criminals, Frank.” 

“Certainly not! But a detective will ferret them out 
quietly for you. There need be no exposl. I advise you 
to engage the services of some clever fellow at once. 
Had you done so at first, it would have saved you all this 
worry, and Mrs. D’Arcy would now be with her husband.” 

Clifford meditated deeply for several seconds. 

“ I wish, Frank,” he said, drawing up his tall figure and 
sitting erect, “ that you had made this suggestion sooner. 
As you say, it would have saved a heap of trouble, and 
hastened the reunion of D’Arcy and his wife,” 


78 


Conner D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


“Never too late to mend, old man. I’ll tell you what 
I will do. You must return at once, you say; then why 
not engage a detective within the hour? Then leave the 
rest in my hands, as I may be detained here a month or 
two longer, and I promise with his help to work it up for 
you.” 

“ Will you ? — will you really, old man ?” eagerly. 

“Yes, really!” 

“Thanks! it’s a bargain, then. Poor D’Arcy insists 
upon coming over to prosecute the search himself. He 
has not the strength, and yet I can’t bear to go away and 
let them have no news of him.” 

“But they shall have news, Duke, I promise you.” 

“ And if I can get this confounded business, that takes 
me away just now, settled in time, you may expect to see 
me back by the end of next month.” 

“I shall have found them before that.” 

“ Perhaps,” rather dubiously. 

“Well, we shall see,” Brand rejoined, confidently. He 
was resolved to prove to his friend what he could do. 

‘“Ave! Ave! Mother bright, 

Guard us through the coming night,* *’ 

Clifford hummed softly as he rang for his man. 

Frank Brand had not been far astray when he suggested 
the possibility of the D’ Arcys having left London ; at least 
all but Connor and Teddy had left. They were in the city 
every day, but after office hours they joined the others in 
the new home to which Mrs. D’Arcy had been removed. 
She had yielded — ah, how unwillingly! — to their united 
entreaties and Connor’s promise that he should call daily 
at Charlotte Street, until an answer to the letter he had 
had forwarded to Mr. Philipson should come. 

It was a pretty, unpretending cottage to which the 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


79 


gentle invalid had been removed, standing in the midst 
of a rambling old flower-garden with fragrant-smelling 
honeysuckle and jasmine clustering around the windows 
and climbing over and around the rustic porch before the 
door, from which a narrow gravelled path led to a little 
green gate, shaded on either side by a beautiful laburnum, 
whose golden tassels drooped gracefully above the low 
hawthorn hedge and the white road beyond. 

All day long the song of the birds mingled sweetly with 
the dreamy murmur of a little brook that ran down one 
side of the garden close to the hedge, where, under the 
shade of a tall lime tree, was a rude seat formed of roots 
and moss. On the balmy air came sweet odors from 
blossoming orchards and smiling gardens. 

A lovely spot, close to London, but looking in its quiet 
rural beauty as if hundreds of miles lay between it and the 
great city. 

It is June now — fair, smiling June. 

A month had passed since Lotta, standing on the deck 
of the stately ship which was to bear her from her native 
land, bade farewell to her friends, and in this month a 
change had come to the D’Arcys. 

Connor, through the recommendation of his then em- 
ployer, had obtained the situation of managing clerk in a 
branch office in the city, and had secured for Teddy a 
junior clerkship in the same office. 

True to his resolve, Connor had sought for and found 
this little peaceful retreat, to which he had had his mother 
conveyed. 

To the delight of the loving hearts around her, Mrs. 
D’Arcy had rallied and brightened up wonderfully after 
the fatigue consequent on her removal had passed away; 
it was but the last flash of the expiring taper, and was 
succeeded by a sudden and startling change. 


8o 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 


Very gently, very kindly, the doctor who had been 
hastily summoned broke the sad tidings to Kate and 
Denise. 

Oh, the anguish unutterable that that dread announce- 
ment brought to the hearts of those who loved the dying 
woman so tenderly! 

It was terrible to witness Connor’s silent despair. 
Teddy, utterly stunned by the blow, went about with 
white, stricken face and great sorrowful eyes. Eva wept 
unrestrainedly and with a passionate disregard of the feel- 
ings of others; and fearing the effects of such an outburst 
of grief upon the dying woman, Kate for once forgot to 
be patient with her pet and forcibly removed the weeping 
girl from the room. 

The western sky was ablaze with the gold and crimson 
and amethyst of the setting sun, which sent long shafts 
of light into the little bedroom, bathing as if in loving 
benediction the face of Honoria D’Arcy in its golden 
splendor, and lighting up its sweet beauty with a glory 
not of this world. 

“Denise!” said the low, sweet voice. 

“Yes, mamma, darling.” 

“ There is something I must say to you while we are 
alone for the last time, my child. I will soon be gone; 
but you must not grieve that Heaven sees fit to call me. 
I know all that is in your brave young heart, my Denise, 
and I also know that you will remember the words I am 
about to speak — my dying words to you.” 

“Yes, mamma, darling!” the poor girl responded, strug- 
gling, oh, so hard, to keep from crying aloud in the 
intensity of her anguish ; and bending down she passion- 
ately kissed the thin white hand of her mother. 

“ It is the will of God that I shall not live to see your 
dear father ; but you will see him soon, my darling, I feel 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 8i 

that you will, and I want jw/, my Denise, to tell him that 
I never doubted, never blamed him. I know that it has 
not been his fault. Give him my love; tell him that to 
the last I prayed for and blessed him.’' 

She paused, and gazed with a wistful pathos in the 
beautiful gray eyes, now dark and intense with approach- 
ing dissolution — out on the sun -flooded garden, on the 
golden laburnums, and on the blue sky, with its crimson 
and gold and soft amethyst clouds. Lingeringly the eyes 
of the dying woman turned from contemplating the tran- 
quil beauty of the scene to look at Denise. 

“There is something else I want you to promise,” she 
continued, in faint, clear tones. 

“You know that although you are so much younger 
than Connor, he will yield to you as he would not yield to 
the wishes of any other but myself. My noble Connor, 
Heaven bless him! He is so good, and generous, and 
affectionate; but, ah! he is proud, and passionate, and — 
and I fear just a little headstrong; but you, my Denise, 
can stay the storm of his wrath, you can influence him. 
He will listen to you when I am gone. Will you promise 
me ?” 

“ I promise, dear, that I shall do my utmost to fulfil 
your wishes in all things.” 

“Heaven bless you! Your aunt could not have the 
heart to be firm with him; she is only a girl after all, 
just two years older than Connor, you know; and she 
always lets him have his own way in everything; poor 
Kate is so large-hearted. 

“ Connor does not understand your father. He judges 
him from his own standpoint and blames him accordingly. 
But that is all wrong. No child has a shadow of a right 
to arraign and condemn a parent. Your poor father may 
have failed in his endeavor, but I want you to remember 
6 


82 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


always that he has never been guilty of wrong or injustice 
to us. When they meet you will remember this.” 

Oh, the loyal, faithful heart that will not doubt! Oh, 
the love which years of separation and apparent neglect 
cannot alter! 

“Yes, darling mamma, I shall remember always.” 

“ Something tells me that at no distant day you will 
meet Lotta. Give her my love and blessing, and tell her 
I thought of her, as of one of my children, to the last. 
Heaven could not bestow a greater boon upon my Con- 
nor than the boon of Lotta’s love; she is the one in all 
the world I should desire to see his wife.” 

She leaned back among her pillows faint and exhausted, 
and pouring out some wine and water, Denise tenderly 
moistened the parched lips. 

At that moment the door was softly opened by Kate, 
who noiselessly ushered in Father Brady, and soon after 
they were joined by Connor and Teddy. 

The laburnums were pierced with shafts and arrows of 
sunlight, and dewdrops, glittering like rarest gems, still 
hung on the blades of grass and sparkled in the lily-cups. 
The birds sang their sweetest, golden shadows flickered 
and trembled across the little brook, as it wimpled and 
gurgled, like baby laughter, over its pebbly bed. 

All nature seemed to rejoice on this fair June morning 
when Honoria D’Arcy lay cold and still in death within 
the little cottage. 

How beautiful looked the face of the dead woman, with 
that mystic seal upon it, that subtle, inscrutable smile on 
the still, pale lips — a smile such as living lips never wore, 
a light, like the silver gleam shed by the moon, resting on 
the serene, white brow! 

The slender hands, clasping a silver crucifix, were folded 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 83 

above the pulseless heart, which would never again be 
moved by earthly joys or sorrows. 

Kate and Denise still knelt and prayed by the silent 
form; the darkened room was lighted by tall wax-candles, 
and the air was heavy with the fragrance of sweet white 
flowers gathered by loving hands from the pretty garden 
without. 

It wanted an hour of noon, when a gentleman opened 
the little green gate and walked quickly up the narrow 
path. Suddenly he paused, struck by the strange, oppres- 
sive stillness which pervaded the place, and, glancing 
toward the cottage, perceived that the blinds were all 
down. 

He stood there an instant perplexed, irresolute, glanc- 
ing from the windows, with their closely drawn blinds, to 
the closed door. 

As nothing could be learned by standing staring at the 
house, he advanced and knocked softly, fearing he knew 
not what. But not until he had knocked a third time was 
there any response. 

Then the door was noiselessly opened, and he drew back 
a step and raised his hat courteously to the graceful, 
dark-robed girl who stood before him, with fair face, pale 
and tear-stained, and blue eyes red with much weeping. 

“ I — I beg pardon, madam,” he stammered, “but I have 
been informed that Mrs. D’Arcy and her family reside 
here. I hope my informant was correct, as I am acting 
in the interest of a friend who has been searching for the 
lady or her family for some months; and I am the bearer 
of a letter from Mr. D’Arcy.” 

“A letter — at last! And — ah! merciful Heaven, you 
are too late!” 

Frank Brand would never forget the look that leaped 
into the blue eyes, or the hopeless, regretful misery in the 


84 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


soft, musical voice, as two little white hands went out in 
a gesture of wordless despair. 

She seemed on the point of fainting, and with ready 
courtesy he put out his hand to save her from falling; but 
she recovered instantly, and with a faint smile offered an 
apology. 

“ This is so unexpected. I think you said that you 
bring a letter for Mrs. D’Arcy from her husband? I re- 
gret to say that Mrs. D’Arcy expired at half-past one 
o’clock this morning, without the consolation of even see- 
ing that letter. ” 

Her listener’s face showed that he was startled and 
deeply shocked by this announcement. 

Kate saw that his words of sympathy were sincere. 

“ I have the pleasure of being personally acquainted with 
your father. Miss D’Arcy,” he continued, secretly wonder- 
ing that she expressed no interest in the letter of which 
he was the bearer, “ and I know it will prove a very severe 
blow to him when he learns that your mother is dead.” 

She bowed with quiet dignity. 

“ Permit me to thank you for the words of sympathy you 
have so kindly and, I feel, sincerely spoken. But allow 
me, sir, to set you right. I am Miss D’Arcy, the sister^ 
not the daughter of Gerald D’Arcy.” 

' For once in many years Mr. Brand crimsoned over face 
and temples. He had made a mistake, but a very natural 
mistake notwithstanding. 

Despite the traces of bitter grief and unrestrained weep- 
ing, Kate D’Arcy looked very young and girlish in face 
and form ; as she stood in the open doorway, framed in by 
its vine-wreathed porch, the most severe critic could not 
imagine that twenty-four summers had passed over her 
head. Her gown is plain and shabby, but scrupulously 
clean — a dark prune-colored cashmere, which she had 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


85 


worn religiously for the past fifteen months, with frillings 
of thin white muslin, neatly crimped, at throat and wrists. 
She looked pale and exhausted after her night’s vigil; but 
usually her. complexion was a blending of the rose and the 
lily ; hers was a bright, tender, truthful face, with a certain 
touch of pride in the curve of the lips, in the glance of the 
handsome blue eyes, in the poise of the shapely white 
throat, and in the erect, graceful carriage. 

Strictly speaking she was not beautiful, but she was 
exceedingly pretty and winsome, and notwithstanding the 
undeniable shabbiness of her attire, in every gesture, in 
every inflection of the soft, musical voice, Kate D’Arcy 
was a gentlewoman. 

For an instant, as her visitor realized all this, he paused, 
but only for an instant, so brief that Kate, though perceiv- 
ing that swift flush, scarcely noticed his silence. 

“ Pray accept my apologies. Miss D’Arcy,” he said, with 
pleasing frankness' “ although a more clever man than 
myself might have made a similar mistake, and permit me 
to introduce myself: I am Frank Brand, very much at 
your service. Miss D’Arcy. If there is anything I can do 
for you or any of your brother’s family, I beg you will not 
hesitate to call upon me. I shall not return to the States 
for a week or two, and meantime command me in all 
things. 

“ I believe you will find every instruction in your 
brother’s letter, which I shall now give you — since I have 
unfortunately been denied the pleasure of delivering it to 
the lady for whom it was written ; and shall no longer in- 
trude upon your grief.” 

These words, so gently spoken, brought a swift blush to 
Kate’s fair face, as she suddenly remembered that all this 
time she had been keeping this messenger from her long- 
absent brother standing on the doorstep. The shock of 


86 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


this letter, coming at such a time, had for the moment 
stunned her into forgetfulness. 

“The loss we have just sustained must be my apology 
for keeping you so long standing here, Mr. Brand,” she 
said, with quiet dignity; “let me hope that you will 
kindly overlook my neglect and favor me by entering the 
.house.” 

He bowed, and she led the way into a small room. 

“This is my present address. Miss D’Arcy,” he said, 
presenting his card, in one corner of which he had hastily 
scribbled “The Albany.” 

She took it with a word of thanks and gracefully in- 
dicated a chair to her visitor. 


Chapter 1II. 


“ The voice of thy streams in my spirit I hear. 

Farewell ! and a blessing be with thee, dear land ! 

On thy halls, on thy hearths, on thy pure mountain air ; 

On the strings of the harp and the minstrel’s free hand ! 

From the love of my soul with my tears it is shed, 

Whilst I leave thee, O land of my home and my dead ! ” 

— Mrs. Hemans. 

“ Bright spells are on the soothed sea. 

And Hope, the child, is gone to dream 
Of pleasures — which may never be ! ” 

— Barry Cornwall. 

‘‘T SHALL most certainly decline to go! The husband 

I and father who could so utterly neglect his wife and 
children — for four years never writing to them — 
leaving his wife to die of want and a broken heart, cannot 
be surprised if I, his son, refuse to accept his money or go 
to him. I am of age, and I shall never be a dependent on 
the bounty of a man who has proved himself so utterly 
heartless.” 

“Connor D’Arcy, I beg you will remember that you are 
speaking of your father, and that although you are of age, 
that time never comes to any one of us when we cease to 
owe obedience and respect to our parents.” 

Under the lime-tree, by the wimpling brook, a little 
group was gathered. Connor, with pale, set face and 
gleaming eyes, his dark hair swept back from his hand- 
some, massive brow, where the great blue veins stood out 

87 


^8 


Connor D' Arcy' s Struggles. 


like knotted cords, his tall figure drawn up to its full 
height, determination and defiance in every line of his 
clear-cut features. 

Before him stood Denise, with white, stricken face and 
pleading eyes, and beside her Kate, with a new look upon 
her face, a look of anger and command. 

“ Then I decidedly prefer evincing my respect for my 
remaining parent at a distance. ” 

“ But, Connor, you forget what the gentleman told Aunt 
Kate; indeed, dear, you must see that papa was not to 
blame; his letters to dear mamma had miscarried; you 
know she always said there was some mistake about them, 
and that it was a pity we had not left our address with Mr. 
Philipson when the bank failed and we were obliged to 
remove to an attic." 

“ Of course,” Connor responded, with fine sarcasm, “ we 
had no right to the possession of a spark of self-respect; 
and because, forsooth, we attempted to exercise a little 
reticence, in the vain hope of hiding from the world the 
state of utter destitution to which we had been reduced, 
you possibly consider that all the misery and suffering 
which the last few months have brought us just retribu- 
tion. What do you think the world would say of the 
matter? I will tell you: the world would say that our 
father, after having spent his own and his wife’s fortune on 
speculations, had fled, leaving his wife and children desti- 
tute, penniless, dependents upon the bounty of his girl 
sister, whose warm, generous heart would ” 

“ Connor, I insist that you respect my feelings and 
cease speaking in such terms of your father and my 
brother!” Kate said severely. She could not conscien- 
tiously allow Connor to cast a reproach upon his absent 
father, although she had long secretly blamed her brother 
for his neglect of his wife and children, whose welfare, by 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 89 

the laws of God and man, was his first duty; but she could 
not encourage Connor in rebelling against his father. 

She had brought Connor and Denise here, away from 
the presence of their unburied dead, to tell them of Mr. 
Brand’s visit and to give Connor his father’s letter, which 
at first sight he had positively refused to open, until moved 
by Denise’s tears and entreaties. As, with frowning brow, 
he cut the envelope and drew forth -the inclosure, a folded 
paper fluttered to the ground. Denise stooped and picked 
up a draft for three hundred pounds, which she placed in 
her aunt’s hand. 

It was a tender, loving letter — that letter to the dead 
wife, whose eyes in life had so ached to see it, but would 
now never look upon it. 

Who can say for what mysterious reason this pleasure 
had been denied the poor longing heart ? 

It gave a slight resuind of his life and struggles during 
the last few years. He hinted at his disappointment in 
not having received an answer to any of his letters, and 
mentioned the accident which had prevented him coming 
in person to find his beloved ones. 

If the inclosed would be insufficient for present expenses 
the bearer of the letter, Mr. Clifford, would be their 
banker to any amount. He would wish them to prepare 
and come to him at once; and he promised to have a fitting 
home prepared for them. His friend Mr. Clifford, in whom 
he had all faith, had promised to take charge of them on 
the passage. It concluded with loving messages to all. 

But Connor’s heart was hardened against his father and 
the sight of the money only served to further embitter him. 
As Denise listened to the hot, angry words that fell from 
his lips, she shivered and inwardly murmured : 

“Thank Heaven! he will never know that to save our 
dear mother’s life I once sang on the streets of London.’’ 


90 


Confior D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


Prayers and entreaties were alike thrown away upon 
Connor, who was inflexibly bent on carrying out his resolu^ 
tion of remaining in his present situation. 

He was young and strong, he asserted, and it behooved 
every man to fight the battle of life alone and unaided. 

Finding that she could not shake his resolves, Kate left 
him alone with Denise and went into the cottage to write 
a letter to her brother. 

For a few seconds after Kate had left them, only the 
sweet music of the brook and the song of the birds broke 
the stillness; Denise leaned against the bole of the lime- 
tree, her slender hands locked tightly together, her beauti- 
ful eyes fixed with a look of hopeless misery upon Connor’s 
stern, set face; she was inwardly praying for strength to 
combat his resolution. 

“ Connor!” she was standing by his side now, her cheek 
against his shoulder, her trembling hands clasping his arm. 
He did not look at her, but he touched her clinging hands 
gently with his fingers, and said in kind tones: 

“My poor Denise! you have suffered so much lately, 
but no amount of grieving will restore our dear mother to 
us; go to your room and try to sleep for an hour or two. 
Sleep is the best restorative, and you are trembling.” 

“O Connor, darling brother! do not be vexed with 
me, it will break my heart if you remain in England and 
refuse to go to papa,” she pleaded. 

He forcibly withdrew the clinging fingers from his arm, 
and with darkening brows thrust her from him. 

“ There is no use, Denise, I shall not be moved from my 
resolution. Do you think I am a child to be led hither 
and thither at the will of those around me? Had you been 
left to my care. Heaven knows how willingly I should have 
, worked to keep you all from want; that duty has been 
claimed by one possessed of a better right; but, once for 


Connor D' Arcf s Strtcggles. 


91 


all, I distinctly refuse to profit by his sudden accession to 
fortune. I could never forget that his neglect killed our 
mother — let this be the last we shall ever say about it.” 

He turned and went toward the cottage, leaving her to 
follow, with bowed head and cruelly aching heart. In all 
her young life Connor had never before treated her so 
harshly; but she did not think of that, she thought only 
of her promise to her dying mother. 

It was the evening of the second day after the funeral. 
Denise stood alone at the little green gate, gazing out 
along the dusty road, where long purple shadows were 
beginning to fall. 

There was an eager light in the girl’s eyes, a soft glow 
on the pale cheeks; she looked so fair, and sweet, and 
pretty in her deep mourning dress, which contrasted so 
well with the fresh young face and pure complexion, as 
she stood there, all unconscious and unheeding what a 
picture she made with the golden laburnums drooping from 
their sweet green leaves above her. In her hands, which 
were folded at her back, she held a letter. 

She had stood thus for the last half-hour watching — 
watching for the coming of Connor and Teddy from the 
city. 

At last she saw them coming; they had evidently caught 
a glimpse of her, for they quickened their footsteps, and 
she quitted her post and went to meet them, one hand 
holding up her train, the other, in which she held the let- 
ter, still at her back. 

“Were you watching for us?” Connor asked, smiling 
into her eager, upturned face, as she passed her hand 
through his arm. “Did you think we were not coming? 
This is Teddy’s last day at the office, you know, and we 
were detained.” 

“Yes, you are late, but it is not quite that; there is a 


92 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


letter for you, at last, from Mr. Philipson. Connor, dear, it 
went to Charlotte Street, and Mrs. Norris sent Sarah here 
with it. Was it not kind and thoughtful of her?” 

“Very! Mrs. Norris is a good, motherly soul.” 

“ Is it an answer to the letter you sent away long ago, 
Connor?” Teddy asked eagerly. He was looking thin, 
pale, and anxious-eyed. 

“I suppose so,” Connor responded carelessly, as they 
entered the gate and Denise gave him the letter, which he 
received without comment of any kind, and taking the lit- 
tle path leading to the brook, left Teddy and Denise to 
enter the cottage alone. As they went slowly up the path 
she told Teddy that Mr. Brand had called to tell them that 
he had also had a letter from Mr. Philipson in answer to 
the one sent by Mr. Clifford. 

Connor’s letter had been sent to quite a number of places 
after Mr. Philipson, and had only just reached him at the 
same time as Mr. Clifford’s. 

“And Teddy, dear,” she said, clasping her brother’s 
arm eagerly, “ just think what a dreadful mistake we have 
all made. Mr. Philipson has had three letters from papa for 
dear mamma: two are lying at his house in London, and 
should have been given to Connor when he called, but the 
stupid woman must have forgotten; and the third arrived 
after Mr. Philipson’ s departure for Egypt, and was sent 
after him; but he did not know our address until he got 
Connor’s letter. O Teddy, if we had only got these letters 
in time mamma might still have been alive, and we should 
all have been so happy.” 

“Yes,” Teddy answered, with^a profound sigh, as they 
entered the house. 

His mother’s death had been a severe blow to quiet, un- 
demonstrative Teddy, and now that Connor had decided to 
remain in England the poor boy felt utterly heart-broken. 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


93 


In a little while Denise stole out to the garden to 
where Connor was seated under the lime-tree, his face 
hidden in his hands, and on the ground at his feet two 
letters were lying. She went softly up to him, and 
sinking on her knees beside him stole her arm around his 
neck. 

“ Connor, darling, come in to tea ; Aunt Kate is wait- 
ing. ” He looked up with pale face and haggard eyes, 
trying to smile. 

“ Then we must not keep her waiting,” he said gently. 

He stooped and picked up the letters. 

“ This letter was sent after Mr. Philipson, and he inclosed 
it with his own to me; it contained a bill for fifty pounds; 
if it had but reached us in time our poor mother might 
have been alive to-day. Here it is, Denise; since she is 
dead the money is yours.” 

He put a folded paper into her hand. 

“ Connor, dear, think it all over. You see papa has not 
been to blame after all; do come with us! Poor Teddy is 
breaking his heart, and oh, darling, just think what poor 
dear mother would feel if she knew you would not go to 
papa. You will come, Connor, won’t you, and make us all 
happy ?” 

She saw that he was softened, and now that they were 
alone was her time; she knew he would not brook being 
talked to before others. 

He looked up, meeting her eyes fully, and answering 
slowly: 

“ I confess that in a measure I have done our father an 
injustice, yet you must admit that his letters have been 
few and far between. He mentions having sent several 
others; Mr. Philipson writes that he received two more, 
which he left on his desk at home to be delivered to me if 
I called. But allowing that others have gone astray, what 


94 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


are six or eight letters from a husband to his wife in the 
space of four years ?” 

“ But you see, Connor, papa never got an answer to any 
of these letters, and might he not quite as reasonably 
blame dear mamma for not writing? He did not know 
that these letters never reached her, and you know, dear, 
it is wrong for us to sit in judgment upon our parents.” 

- Half an hour later they entered the little sitting-room, 
where Kate, Teddy, and Eva were patiently awaiting their 
coming. Denise, with a glad light shining through tears 
in her beautiful eyes, a smile dimpling round her pretty 
mouth, advanced to the table. 

“Connor is coming with us. Aunt Kate,” she said. 

Kate’s blue eyes were raised with an answering smile. 

“Ah, now indeed you are my own Connor.” 

“ And you are no longer angry with me. Aunt Kate ?” 

“ Angry ! I have never been so long angry with you be- 
fore, my dear boy; but it is all past now, thank Heaven. 
Ah, how happy it would make your dear mother if she 
could know this!” 

“Denise conquered,” Connor answered, as he took his 
seat. 

“Won’t it be splendid, going all together, and won’t 
Lottchen be surprised when we meet her! But then, of 
course, papa being so very rich, we’ll not have much 
chance of meeting her, as her uncle is only a farmer, and 
we are sure to live in a large house in the city,” said Eva 
grandly. 

Connor frowned, and Kate said, a little severely, as she 
poured out the tea: 

“ I should hope, Eva, that no change of fortune would 
ever cause us to neglect Lotta, whose unvarying kindness 
to us in our time of poverty has given her a strong hold 
upon our lasting friendship; and, setting all that aside, 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


95 


Lotta von Rosenberg is the noblest girl I have ever known ; 
and it will be an unspeakable pleasure to me when we meet 
again. ” 

“ O auntie, I did not mean that we should forget 
Lottchen, as you seem to think,” Eva cried, with a little 
pout. “I am sure I should like to see her very much; 
and I shall ask papa to invite her to some of our parties, 
it will be so nice to have her come.” 

“You are early beginning to patronize,” Connor re- 
marked scornfully. 

“Don’t put on airs, Eva; I wouldn’t if I were you,” 
Teddy said indignantly. “ Lotta is not a girl to be pa- 
tronized.” 

The passage had not been quite so pleasant as had been 
anticipated; the good ship had encountered more than one 
stiff gale, but to-day the Atlantic is smooth and glassy, 
the blue sky cloudless. 

Every one had come on deck to look at the blue hills of 
Neversink. They were nearing land now, and Denise, as 
she stood gazing sadly toward the land which she had 
once so longed to visit, thought of the dear mother lying 
peacefully at rest in the little English churchyard so far 
away, and wondered if she knew they were so soon to see 
the father who for so many years had been a stranger to 
them. 

She glanced at Eva, who was laughing and chattering 
gayly with Mr. Brand and quite a little knot of passengers, 
and a sharp pang came to her heart. 

“ How soon Eva has forgotten!” she thought sadly. 

She looked away from the gay party and softly re- 
peated Tennyson’s beautiful lines: 

” the stately ships go on, 

To their haven under the hill; 


96 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! ” 

She saw that Connor was thoughtfully watching the 
track made by the prow of the stately ship as she grace- 
fully cut her way through the blue waters, and knew that 
he shared her feelings. Then she found herself wonder- 
ing, with vague uneasiness, how Connor would meet their 
father. 


Chapter 


“We look before and after, 

And sigh for what is not ; 

And our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught. 

O’T sweetest songs are those 
That tell of saddest thoughts.” 

— Shelley. 

W HEN Lotta descended next morning, the sun 
was shining brightly and Bob was flooding the 
little house with music. With the glad morning 
sunshine the brave young heart had cast aside much of 
the previous day’s misgivings, and she smilingly greeted 
the two women, who anxiously inquired how she had 
rested. 

“Thanks, I was very comfortable; but have you really 
waited breakfast, Mrs. Woods? It is quite too bad to 
have kept you waiting so long,” she said as she took a 
seat at the neatly spread table. 

“ I think of going out after breakfast; might I ask you, 
Mrs. Mullins — if you have no other engagement — to ac- 
company me to the post-office ? I should like this letter 
posted at once. I promised to write home and tell my 
friends of my safe arrival.” 

It would be long before Lotta would cease to look upon 
the old land and the drawing-room flat in Charlotte Street 
as home. 

“Well, surely you haven’t lost much time in keeping 
your promise. Miss von Rosenberg, and indeed I’ll have 
7 97 


98 


Connor D'Arcy's :Struggles. 


much pleasure in going with you to the post-office, or, for 
the matter of that, taking you all over the city if you’ll let 
me.” 

“ Thanks, but ” 

The little knocker on the front door gave out a loud 
peremptory summons, startling all three and causing Lotta 
to pause abruptly. 

“ Never mind, mother, I’ll open the door — I know you’ll 
excuse me. Miss von Rosenberg,” Mrs. Mullins said as 
she hurried from the room. 

The sound of a man’s voice — a hasty step in the narrow 
lobby — and Lotta is standing in the centre of the little 
room, looking at the door with wide, startled eyes, her 
beautiful face flushing and paling alternately. She uttered 
a little cry as the door was flung open, and advanced a 
step, both hands outstretched to a tall, broad-shouldered 
man standing framed in the open doorway. 

“ Lottchen^ mein liebes Kind ! ” 

“Uncle!” 

He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her 
on either cheek, then pushed her gently away and looked 
at her long and earnestly. 

“ It is mein little Lottchen, who has come from over the 
sea to brighten her old uncle’s home and make him 
happy. Is it not so, mem Herz7'' 

“ It is so, my uncle. I am Lottchen, and, if you will 
let me, I will try to make your home happy.” 

Ach Himmel ! that is good,” he said, with a profound 
sigh. He laid his hand upon her shoulder and looked her 
steadily in the face. For a few seconds there was silence 
between them ; neither noticed that the two women had 
quietly slipped from the room. 

“ Carl’s daughter,” he said sadly, tears standing in the 
still clear blue eyes. “Poor Carl! You are all that is 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


99 


left to care for the old man, Lottchen. I will be a father 
to you, and you will try to care a little for me?” 

“ I will care very much for you, uncle, if you will let me.” 

“ Ach ! That is what I have been wanting for the last 
eight years — some one to care for me. I felt it very 
bitterly when they were all taken from me and I was left 
alone. But you have been sent to take their place, mein 
Kind., and I will grieve no longer. But will you be content 
on a Western farm, Lottchen ?” 

“ I will be content, uncle, so long as I am with you.” 

Something like a smile twinkled in the blue eyes so 
earnestly regarding her. 

'"'Ach, memHerz, you will look like a beautiful white lily 
all alone in a garden filled with nettles and dandelions. 
But you will not need to soil your white hands, Lottchen ; 
there are helps to do the work, and you shall have every- 
thing that money can buy to make you happy.” 

But indeed, uncle,” Lotta answered, a tremor in her 
sweet young voice, “ money could not purchase that 
which alone could make me happy.” 

Ach! mein bestes Lottchen, it is a very powerful agent; 
but what is the essential which money cannot purchase ?” 

She lifted her beautiful eyes filled with tears to his face. 

“The dear father loved me!” she answered tremu- 
lously, “and I was so happy.” 

“ Then you shall be happy! Carl’s daughter shall be to 
me as my own.” 

She lifted his strong, sunburnt hand and pressed it to 
her cheek. “ Then I shall be very happy, mein bester 
Onhel.” 

“Now that is settled,” he said, smiling down upon her. 
“I will take you away from here.” But glancing at the 
breakfast-table, “ As you have not breakfasted and I am 
in the same condition, I will join you; then I will take 


lOO 


Connor Z> 'Arcy's Struggles. 


you away. We will not go home for a week or two, and 
you will see all the sights. But why did you come here, 
Lottchen ? Why did you not go to a hotel ?” 

“ I was so lonely, uncle. I have never gone anywhere 
unaccompanied by my dear father; when he was engaged 
I remained at home. When the London seasons were over 
and his patrons out of town, we always went somewhere 
for a holiday, to Italy or the South of France, but more 
frequently we went to dear old Vaterland — but I have never 
before travelled a mile without my dear father by my side. 
If I had not been so unhappy I would have been dread- 
fully frightened to have undertaken this journey alone. 
But when the ship came up to her pier and I beheld the 
confusion and strange faces around me, and for the first 
time realized that I was alone in a strange land and that 
you did not come, I grew sick at heart, a great terror 
seized me, and I begged the stewardess to take me to her 
home. The captain promised that you should not be kept 
in suspense about me, and they have been very kind to 
me, uncle.” 

“ Then, mein Lottchen^ they shall have no cause to repent 
having been kind to thee.” 

If Lotta could have ceased to mourn the loss of a father 
who had loved her so truly, she might have been happy, 
for her uncle seemed determined to make up in affection 
for the loss she had sustained; she was grateful to him for 
all his care and attention, and made an effort to appear 
bright and cheerful. 

During the next fortnight they visited every place of 
interest in or about the city. 

Mr. von Rosenberg seemed never tired of buying Lotta 
costly presents. At first she remonstrated, but seeing that 
the bestowal of these gifts afforded him pleasure she 
desisted. 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Sh’uggles. 


lOI 


“We live so far away from everything,” he would say, 
with a laugh, “ and when you go home you will be wishing 
you had bought these things when you had the chance.” 

They were staying at one of the principal hotels. Mr. 
von Rosenberg was very proud of the beauty and grace of 
his niece, but although it pleased him that every one should 
admire her, he preferred that it should be at a distance ; 
she had come to fill the void in his lonely heart, and 
already he looked upon her as his child. 

They were coming out of “ Delmonico’s” when a pleas- 
ant voice, with the least possible drawl, close beside them 
said: 

“ Hadn’t the most remote notion I should see you here, 
Mr. von Rosenberg; going to stay long?” 

The speaker, a very fair specimen of a handsome young 
American, dressed in a light summer suit, was regarding 
Lotta with evident surprise and a very strong mingling of 
respectful admiration. 

“I thought I had left you out West,” Mr. von Rosen- 
berg said, shaking hands with the young man; then turn- 
ing proudly to his niece: “ Lottchen, this is Mr. Herbert 
Haviland, the son of a neighbor; Mr. Haviland, this 
young lady is my niece. Miss von Rosenberg.” 

“ I am very happy to make your acquaintance. Miss 
von Rosenberg,” the young man said, returning Lotta’s 
bow with easy grace. 

“ May I venture to ask what are your impressions of us? 
But I suppose my question is premature; you have 
scarcely had time to judge us as a people, and in order to 
appreciate the beauty of our land, you would require to 
leave the city.” 

“ I confess to being already pleasantly disappointed, 
Mr. Haviland,” Lotta answered, her slow, rare smile light- 
ing up the beautiful, sad face. 


102 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


“ I am very pleased to hear you say so, Miss von Rosen- 
berg, and I venture to prophesy that you will not be long 
among us until all your insular prejudices have vanished. 
But pardon me, you are not English, perhaps?” 

“ I scarcely know how to answer that question, Mr. 
Haviland. I was born in England ; my dear father was a 
German, my mother was English, I love both nations very 
dearly, and feel that both have claims upon my affections.” 

“ Let me hope, Miss von Rosenberg, that you will keep 
a little place in your regards for the new land.” 

“ I am sure I shall like it very much,” she responded. 

She felt pleased when her uncle engaged the young man 
in conversation all about cattle, crops, and farm imple- 
ments. He accompanied them to their hotel, and after 
asking and obtaining permission to call upon them next 
morning, took his leave. 

During the remainder of their stay in the city Mr. 
Haviland called frequently upon them and accompanied 
them to different places, often bringing or sending bouquets 
of flowers to Lotta, who did not know how to refuse these 
delicate attentions, yet felt constrained to do so. 

“ It is very kind of Mr. Haviland, uncle, but I would 
much rather he did not send those flowers,” she said one 
morning with a slight shade of annoyance on her beautiful 
face, holding up an exquisite bouquet which a messenger 
boy had just brought to their parlor. 

Her uncle looked up from his breakfast, a whimsical 
smile in the shrewd blue eyes. 

“ Haviland has been to Europe, mein Kind^ and has picked 
up a few nonsensical French airs. He is not a bad sort of 
a fellow, though, and pays these little attentions to the 
young stranger in a spirit of friendliness; but if they annoy 
mein Lottchen I shall take care he sends no more flowers. ” 

A warm blush tinted the creamy whiteness of Lotta’s 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 103 

face; she regretted having spoken on the subject, and feel- 
ing how ridiculous her objections must appear, responded 
hastily : 

“Oh, please do not say anything about the flowers; of 
course it is very kind of Mr. Haviland, and I am very 
absurd, uncle.” 

“We will start for home in a few days, and the young 
fellow will not be able to leave New York for another fort- 
night; so unless you like I will say nothing about them, 
but remember, mein Herz^ no one will need to annoy my 
little Lottchen. ” 

It was evident that Mr. von Rosenberg was eager to 
get back to his home, and Lotta began to tire of the heat 
and dust of the city. They had visited all the churches. 
Long Branch, Coney Island, and Lake George, and before 
starting on their journey she once more wrote to her friends 
in England. 

The heat was becoming overpowering, and Lotta felt 
thankful to escape from the noise of ever-rolling omnibuses 
and the sight of valise-laden humanity on the move in 
search of cooler quarters — thankful to escape from the 
tumult and confusion at the railroad depots, the bustle and 
oppressive heat of the city — thankful to catch a glimpse of 
the fresh, green country as they flew along, and her eyes 
could rest refreshed on the beauties of nature bathed in 
the glory of the summer sunshine. 

The long and seemingly interminable journey came to 
an end at last. 

“Here we are at last, mem Kind^"' Mr. von Rosenberg 
said, his face glowing with pleasure, as the train for 
almost the hundredth time began to slow up, and the con- 
ductor, looking in at the door of the coach, shouted in a 
stentorian voice: “ Mooseville !” 

“We get off here, Lottchen,” her uncle said, giving her 


104 


Connor D ' Arcy s Struggles. 


his hand as he spoke, and assisting her to descend the 
steps to the platform of the little country way-station, 
where, close to the station-house, a light wagon was 
drawn up. 

The young man standing by the horse hastily flung the 
reins over the animal’s back and advanced, his face beam- 
ing with delight. 

“Ah, thin, Mr. von Rosenberg, but ye’re welcome 
home,” he exclaimed joyfully. 

“ How are all at home, Dan ? Everything getting on 
well ?” 

“ Niver was betther, sor, an’ sure I’m heartily glad to 
see ye back.” 

“ Thanks. This young lady is Miss von Rosenberg, 
your future mistress, Dan.” 

“ An’ a beautiful young crathur she is, sor, axin’ your 
pardon, ma’am,” Dan answered, with a gasp of genuine 
admiration. “An’ indade, miss, ye’re as welcome as the 
flowers in May.” 

“ Thanks, very much!” Lotta returned, with a smile that 
went straight to the heart of Dan and made him her will- 
ing slave ever after. 

“Now, Dan, see to Miss von Rosenberg’s luggage and 
all these packages, and let us be off home. Give me the 
whip — I shall drive.” 

“Indade an’ ye’ll be there in a wink, sor,” Dan re- 
sponded, setting about his work with alacrity. 

Since her first arrival in the States, Lotta had never en- 
joyed anything so much as that two miles’ drive from the 
depot to her new home. 

The deep azure of the cloudless sky, the golden sunlight 
all around, broken here and there by the outspreading 
branches of the grand old oaks, which cast long purple 
shadows on the soft green grass; lovely, unpretending 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles, 105 

violets half hidden in cool mosses peeping shyly, forth, and 
in the most unexpected spots beautiful groves starting 
into view. The slender branches of the tall trees droop- 
ing gracefully over the edge of a silvery lake, whos: 
mirror-like surface reflected the emerald tint of their foli- 
age, added a mystic beauty to the dim recesses opening 
back in the forest. 

Suddenly they came upon a different scene, a vast tract 
of land, cleared and cultivated, reaching to the verge of 
the distant horizon. Clusters of shanties were scattered 
here and there in the distance. 

Close at hand were great fields of grain, the well-kept 
fences studded with fruit-trees; to the right, sleek, mild- 
eyed cattle grazing knee-deep in the rich pasture; facing 
the south a large, comfortable-looking brown house, with 
a piazza running along the front and in the rear a large 
orchard and garden. 

No more beautiful or peaceful scene could well be 
imagined — the emerald billows of the softly swelling pas- 
ture, the pleasant low of the cattle, the rich fields of grain, 
the air of substantial comfort around and about the house. 
In the distance the grand old forest, closely wooded 
heights; here a picturesque waterfall, there the shining 
silver sands bordering a lovely little lake; the brooding 
stillness of the sweet summer evening, and above all the 
blue arch of the smiling heavens. 

Mr. von Rosenberg brought the horse to a sudden stop, 
and fixing his eyes eagerly on Lotta’s face, with his whip 
pointed toward the house. 

“That is your future home, Lottchen,” he said. “Do 
you like it ?“ 

He read the admiration and pleasure in her face and 
eyes even before she answered with a deep inspiration of 
delight: 


io6 


Co7inor J) ' Arcy's Struggles, 


“ It is beautiful !” 

A gate leading to the house was laid back, and as they 
drove up to the entrance a huge dog came bounding from 
the piazza barking joyfully and leaping upon Mr. von 
Rosenberg as he alighted from the wagon. It was an 
instant or two before he could free himself from the 
animal’s caresses and turn to Lotta. Then he assisted 
her to the ground and, taking her two hands in his, kissed 
her on either cheek. 

“ Willkommen,, mein liebes Kind ! ” he said warmly. The 
voice was so like the voice of her beloved father that the 
blinding tears filled Lotta’s eyes, for she felt that that wel- 
come came from the speaker’s heart. 


Chapter Iir, 


To one a perfect halcyon nest, 

All calm and balm, and quiet, and rest. 

And soft as the fur of the coney; 

To another so restless for body and head. 

That the bed seemed borrowed from nettlebed. 

And the pillow from Stratford the stony !” 

— Hood’s “ Miss Kilmanseggi* 

“ For the Viking blood within me 
Tempest stirs my rebel breast, 

I am wearied of this splendor — 

Of this perfum’d silken rest.” 

—Mrs. W. M. Berthold’s Lays of the Vikings." 

‘ ‘ ir^ UT indeed, papa, darling, I don’t see why we should 
|~j go anywhere away from this lovely place. Of 
course it is awfully hot; and one likes to be cool, 
you know.” 

“Therein lies the necessity for change, Eva, and I have 
written to engage lodgings at a country-house during the 
heated term; I hope you will all be pleased with the place. 
We will be quiet and retired, even should our accommo- 
dations fall short of what we might desire.” 

“Oh, how good you are, papa! but” — a little less fer- 
vently — “ I do hope it will be a nice place — not quite so 
grand as this, perhaps, for no one possessed of such a 
residence would want to take in lodgers; but indeed, 
papa,” Eva continued naively, “I should much prefer re- 
maining here than go to lodge in a poor house, no matter 
how cool it might be.” 


107 


io8 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

Mr. D’Arcy laughed good-naturedly. 

“ Well, Eva, if you cannot dispense with luxury, I am 
afraid you must remain where you are,” he said. “Still, 
I venture to think that the prospect of locating for 
two months at a nice farm-house, in the vicinity of 
wooded hills, green .valleys, and running waters, might 
compensate for any trifling disadvantage, more especially 
when I can promise you a plentiful supply of rich milk, 
fresh eggs, golden butter, luscious honey, and fish fresh 
from the stream; shady grounds, pine and maple groves; 
no malaria, no mosquitoes.” 

“ Those who could withstand such inducements must be 
more or less than mortal. Apart from every other con- 
sideration, it is such insufferably hot weather and so 
debilitating that if we can get to any cool country place 
for the time being, I think we should be highly reprehen- 
sible to cavil with our accommodations,” Kate D’Arcy 
remarked, plying a palm-leaf fan with surprising energy. 

“But I do like nice things. Aunt Kate.” 

“ My dear Eva, I do not imagine that your friends can 
hold two opinions on the subject of your likes,” rejoined 
her aunt pleasantly. “ I may add, I think you are just a 
little worldly au fond. I wonder where Connor and Teddy 
can be ?” 

“ I heard them talk about going for a drive to the Cen- 
tral Park with Mr. Brand, Aunt Kate,” Denise responded 
in her clear, bright tones. 

“I don’t know how they could think of going out again 
under such a sun. What does the thermometer stand at, 
papa ?” 

Gerald D’Arcy was seated in a wicker garden chair 
upon a shaded piazza; around the balustrade rare plants 
were ranged, filling the atmosphere with perfume. 

He had been conversing in a desultory fashion through 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles, 109 

the open door, close to which he was seated, with the 
occupants of the room beyond ; and as Denise addressed 
him, he withdrew the Havana which he had been enjoy- 
ing from between his lips, and turned to answer her ques- 
tion as the questioner stepped out from the cool, lofty 
room and stood by his side. 

It was a palatial mansion, this home of the D’Arcys, 
with its handsome marble front, grand entrance, broad 
halls, wide sweeping staircases, gleaming statuary, costly 
paintings, and stately, cheerful rooms. 

A home which might satisfy the most ambitious; yet 
although his by the most indisputable of all rights, that 
of having toiled for and purchased it, Gerald D’Arcy, as 
he sat there inhaling the perfume of the flowers and the 
faint, briny air stealing up from the river, his white sum- 
mer sack thrown widely open, a far-away look in his hand- 
some blue eyes, did not appear a thoroughly happy man. 

He was thinking of the hour in which he had first 
brought his family to this magnificent home, and he had 
said to Connor, with a feeling of pardonable pride in the 
results of his efforts: 

“ This is your new home, Connor. I hope you will 
like it.” 

The look on Connor’s face comes back to him now, 
even as Connor’s answer seems ringing in his ears: 

“ It is a splendid dwelling, sir; but a tithe of this splen- 
dor and your presence would have given my mother happi- 
ness and saved her from dying.” 

They were cruel words, although his son did not mean 
them as such ; but they conveyed a reproach and were as 
a sword-thrust to the warm Irish heart of Mr. D’Arcy. 

He resented the words and the look which accompanied 
them, and although he had answered quietly: 

“You cannot mourn your dear mother’s death more 


I lO 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


truly than I, Connor. Had I known the state to which 
my beloved ones were reduced, no earthly consideration 
would have kept me apart from them; but how could I 
know when my letters remained unanswered ? I relied upon 
your aunt’s money being secure, and having all faith in 
her, believed my wife and family safe from actual want.” 

Yet the sting remained. A feeling of resentment and 
disappointment sprang up in Mr. D’Arcy’s mind which 
the ecstasies of Eva or the admiration and surprise of 
the others could not remove. 

It was “the rift within the lute,” slight and unseen, but 
the harmony would never be the same again; perhaps a 
secret consciousness that he was not blameless made the 
reproach conveyed in Connor’s words more keenly felt. 
No man likes to have his shortcomings broughr vividly 
before him, and that too by a son whose esteem he values, 
and at the very moment when he had expected praise and 
congratulations. 

Gerald D’Arcy had said truly, “he mourned his wife’s 
death.” 

It had been a severe blow to him when the letter con- 
taining the sad tidings had reached him; but eight years 
of separation from wife and family, the whirl and excite- 
ment inseparable from his untiring chase after fortune, 
had somewhat blunted, but certainly had not deadened, his 
affections. He loved his family and felt justly proud of 
them ; perhaps he was at first a little disappointed that 
Connor had outgrown his boyish resemblance to himself. 

No father and son could be more unlike: Connor with 
his pale, dark, handsome face, rich black hair and fearless 
gray eyes, tall, lithe figure and haughty carriage, strong 
to feel and slow to forget; Mr. D’Arcy fair, blue-eyed, 
sanguine, warm, impulsive, generous to prodigality, lack- 
ing his son’s perfection of features, but gay and d^onnaire. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. iii 

with the easy grace and tone, the unmistakable je ne sals 
quoi which bespeaks the gentleman. 

He was changed, less impulsive, less gay, possibly a 
little less generous, but his wild, nomadic life had not 
robbed him of the grace of manner which had never failed 
to win respect and admiration from the rudest. 

He looked up now with a smile in his eyes as Denise 
laid her hand upon his shoulder and said gratefully: 

“ It is so kind of you, papa, to think so much of our 
comfort; but why should we desire a change when we 
have such a splendid home as this?” 

Mr. D’Arcy looked intently at the earnest face, so bright 
and changeful, with the eyes and lips of his early love, the 
wife whom he had vowed to shelter and protect and whom 
he had left to die believing herself neglected. 

He knew now that he should never have parted from 
his wife, or, having done so, should have returned years 
before and sought her out. 

A cruel pang pierced his heart as he met the gray eyes 
looking into his; but Denise never dreamed that the sight 
of her face was a reproach to him, or that, although his 
heart yearned toward her with unspeakable tenderness, it 
was a tenderness always mingled with remorseful regret. 

If he could but recall the last few years of his life — but 
he knew that regrets were worse than useless, and no 
shadow appeared on his face as he smilingly answered 
Denise: 

“My dear child, you cannot understand this climate; 
you will find that after the middle of this midsummer 
month the torrid heat in the city will make you long for 
a sojourn in a cooler latitude. It is now only the middle 
of July, but a few days like this one with the mercury in 
the nineties will make you thankful to get away. I can- 
not take you to a fashionable resort, for I wish our term 


II2 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


of mourning to be passed in retirement; to this end I have 
selected the place I have just mentioned as being healthy, 
where you can enjoy the invigorating air without restraint 
and be quietly secluded. Some of the men will row you 
all across the river every Sunday morning, to where, close 
to the bank in a little wooden chapel, the Holy Mass is 
offered up for the benefit of a number of poor Irish fami- 
lies scattered about the district. When we return home 
your aunt will engage a resident governess for Eva and 
you. She will remain with you for two years, at the ex- 
piration of which time I design that you shall take your 
place in ‘society,’ and I feel sure that I shall have reason 
to be proud of my daughters.” 

Eva had come out upon the piazza and now stole her 
arm around her father’s neck. 

“O you dear, darling papa,” she exclaimed raptur- 
ously, “how good you are! It will be just delightful to 
see our splendid rooms filled with beautifully dressed peo- 
ple, and to give balls and parties, won’t it, Denise?” 

A look of pain darkened Denise’s clear eyes at her sis- 
ter’s thoughtless words, and she answered hastily: 

“ It will not be for a long time yet, Eva, and papa is 
telling me that we shall be rowed across the river every 
Sunday to Mass while we are staying at Beechville. 
Won’t that be splendid, dear?” 

Gerald D’Arcy read the aversion with which his eldest 
daughter shrank from discussing gayeties so soon after the 
death of her mother, and appreciated the delicacy and 
affection stronger than girlish vanity in the young heart. 

“ The glitter and pomp of wealth will never turn her 
brain or make her false to her affections,” he thought 
proudly; aloud he said: “But Eva would rather remain 
at home than relinquish her precious lares and penates even 
for a time. Is it not so, Eva?” with a quizzical laugh. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 113 

Eva looked about her and sighed softly. 

“ Well, it is a pity to go away and leave this beautiful 
house,” she admitted regretfully; “and I really don’t see 
why we should, papa.” 

“ Then I suppose you prefer remaining here, Eva ? 
What does Aunt Kate say ? She shall decide.” 

“ It is too bad,” Kate responded, “ to leave the onus of 
the decision with me; but if I am to decide, then by all 
means let it be the country, I confess that the prospect 
of the bracing mountain air, the unrestrained freedom and 
retirement, the weekly row across the river to the little 
wooden chapel with its humble worshippers, together with 
the promise of fresh milk, eggs, and butter, perfect im- 
munity from malaria and mosquitoes, hold a special charm 
for me. It is always best when we can blend the spiritual 
with the material, thus attending to the wants of the soul 
and the body. But perhaps Eva would prefer remaining 
behind; if so, the servants can look after her personal com- 
forts, and she can go as usual to the cathedral — one of the 
men can drive her there, you know.” 

“I’m sure, auntie,” Eva said, with a pout, “I’m quite 
willing to do whatever papa and you think best. I would 
not remain all by myself with only the servants in this 
great house for — for — oh, for anything; but surely papa 
will take some of the servants?” 

“Well, my dear, I have not engaged a hotel, simply 
apartments and boarding in a large farm-house. Denise 
can take her maid — that is, if your aunt would not prefer 
taking hers; but, in any case, one maid must attend to all 
three.” 

“ I can do without an attendant, papa, and Sara can 
wait upon Aunt Kate and Eva,” Denise said quickly, see- 
ing Eva’s sudden look of disappointment. 

“Very well, my dear, you must arrange among your- 
8 


1 14 Connor D'Arcys Struggles. 

selves how it is to be. I regret being obliged to limit you 
to one attendant, but we will take Cato and Connor’s 
man and — Ah, Teddy, my boy, back again ? How did 
you enjoy your drive? Found it hot, eh?” 

“Yes, sir, very hot, but it was just splendid!” Teddy, 
who, followed by Connor, had just joined them, answered, 
in a tone of genuine appreciation, as he fanned himself 
with his hat. 

Mr. D’Arcy smiled. He liked to see those around him 
happy. 

“Well, Connor, I hope you have found the heat as 
enjoyable as Teddy seems to have done? What have you 
done with Brand ?” 

“ I could have dispensed with the heat, sir, but I cer- 
tainly enjoyed the park. It is magnificent. Mr. Brand 
had an appointment, but he will call to-morrow. He re- 
gretted being unable to return with us.” 

“ I am sorry that Clifford is not here. I should like you 
to make his acquaintance, Connor. I know no two men 
whom I value so highly as Marmaduke Clifford and Frank 
Brand. Did I tell you that Brand’s uncle had a place 
beside us on the Shannon ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Ah, yes. Sir John was one of the fine old English 
gentlemen fast passing away, generous and hospitable. 
Clifford is also a gentleman, descended from a fine old 
stock. You see, Connor, my sojourn in this land of free- 
dom has failed to eradicate the prejudices of birth. Des- 
pite my enlarged knowledge of my fellow-men, I cannot 
accept the doctrine that ‘ One man is as good as another. ’ 
I believe in descent, Connor. In all my wanderings I 
have invariably found that blood tells.” 

Eva was telling Teddy of the coming change in a 
stage whisper, and Mr, D’Arcy, catching the pleased 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 115 

look on Teddy’s face, hastened to explain to Connor, 
adding: 

“ I think the change will do Teddy good. As your aunt 
remarks, this heat is very debilitating, and I should like 
to see him look stronger.” 

“Yes,” Connor answered, glancing toward his brother, 
“ poor Teddy has never quite got over the severe illness he 
had last spring.” 

“Illness last spring?” Mr. D’Arcy questioned, with a 
startled look. “ I did not know that. I thought his deli- 
cacy of look the result of rapid growth.” 

In a few words Connor told of Teddy’s illness, carefully 
avoiding any allusion to their poverty in those days; but 
he noticed that a frown of pain contracted his father’s 
forehead as he listened. 

“ My poor boy, he must lay aside his books and for the 
next twelve months relinquish study,” Mr. D’Arcy decided 
firmly. “ Something must be done for the promotion of his 
physical health, and you must assist me, Connor. We 
cannot afford to lose Teddy.” 

“ I am with you heart and soul, sir, in any scheme for 
Teddy’s welfare, but I fear he will not be willing to give 
up his books. It was only this morning that he begged 
me to speak to you about letting him go to school, as 
he would wish to go at once.” 

Mr. D’Arcy flushed hotly, and a frown of displeasure 
darkened his pleasant face. 

“ And you encouraged him in this notion of going to 
school, I suppose ?” he questioned, speaking calmly. 

“ No, sir. I told him that he must wait until you made 
what arrangements you should deem necessary for the 
completion of his education, which I felt sure you would 
do in good time. For the present I considered that a little 
mild amusement — such as is likely to be found in this 


ii6 Connor D' Arcy' s Struggles. 

projected change — would prove more beneficial than 
study.” 

“I am glad you said that to him, Connor,” Mr. D’Arcy 
said, his face clearing, “ but why should he appeal to 
you ? Great Heaven ! can my children not trust me ? Will 
they not believe that I desire only their welfare and 
happiness?” 

The passion and pathos in his voice and eyes went 
straight to Connor’s heart; for the first time he felt that 
he had been unjust to him. 

“My dear father,” he said, in a tone of deep emotion, 
“you must not misunderstand Teddy; you know that even 
as a child he was shy. Since he left school, four years ago, 
I have been his teacher and director, and he naturally 
comes to me in all his little difficulties; trust me, sir, he 
will soon learn to transfer his troubles to you. I think he 
is already beginning to overcome his shyness; in time I 
quite believe it will altogether disappear. Have a little 
patience with Teddy, father, and all will soon come right. 

All coldness and restraint had passed from Connor’s 
tone and manner. 

“I will have patience. I suppose I am unreasonable; 
but I want you to trust me also, Connor, my boy. We have 
been long separated, but do not let coldness and estrange- 
ment come between us, but believe that your father will 
do all he can to make you happy,” Mr. D’Arcy said, 
grasping his son’s hand with much emotion. 

Denise, who had been a silent witness to this scene be- 
tween father and son, with a glow of delight in her elo- 
quent face stole softly into the room beside her aunt. 

“Father!” Connor said, his pale face lighting up, “you 
say that you desire to make me happy. I am going to 
make a request which I beg you will not refuse; it will 
be the first since we have met.” 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 117 

“Name it, Connor, and consider your request — whatever 
it be — already granted.” 

“ Thank you, sir! you give me courage. My request is 
this: Give me — or let me find — something to do. Idleness 
does not suit me; the wealth and state by which I am 
surrounded oppress me; I should like to earn the right to 
it before sitting quietly down to enjoy it. I feel that I 
must do something. You employ men in the city — let me 
help you, father! I could save you many of those long 
journeys which you are obliged to take. Surely you can 
give me something to do.” 

A shade of disappointment came into the elder man’s 
face, but was succeeded by a smile a trifle hard and bitter. 

“ It is not every young man who is anxious to work with 
the prospect of wealth and idleness before him. I think 
it must be your grandmother’s Scotch blood asserting itself, 
Connor, my boy! You were born to wealth and position — 
yet you are right, a little work will do you no harm; 
idleness engenders vice; your wish is granted. When we 
return from the country you shall be put in a position to 
help me, and shall choose your own work.” 

“You have made me very happy, sir!” Connor declared 
gratefully, but the feeling of disappointment remained 
with his father. 


Chapter 


“ Slow rippling in the zephyr’s breath, 

The murmuring waters flow beneath ; 

Warm glows the sun — sweet breathes the air.” 

—Miss Sheridan. 

“ Riches are for spending, and spending for honor and good 
actions.” — B acon. 

A BOAT in which three gentlemen were seated was 
being rapidly impelled across the little river that 
runs by the village of Beechville. Just at this point 
the smooth, unruffled surface of the river lay like a sheet 
of silver under the brilliant August sun, but murmured 
with a gentle humming sound, like a tender mother lulling 
her infant to repose, as the boat neared the opposite bank, 
where, descending precipitously to the very edge of the 
water, was a grove of maple, cedar, birch, and beech trees, 
their gracefully drooping branches casting long, cool shad- 
ows on the stream at their base. 

The rowers paused simultaneously and leaned upon their 
oars while they gazed silently upon the exquisite scene. 
The beautiful mountains looking so near to that side of 
the river they had left behind them, here and there a soft, 
white cloud floating dreamily, like a white thistle-down 
blown against the azure background of the smiling heavens, 
the fantastic windings of the pretty stream, its graceful 
curves and turnings, here so placidly tranquil, while far- 
ther down, where its course became impeded by rocks, 
it dashed impetuously forward impatient of restraint or 
obstruction. The air was filled with pleasant sounds and 

ii8 


Connor D Arcy's Struggles, 


119 

rich odors from the woods, where the trees were in their 
brightest summer livery. 

“Look here, Frank!” cried one of the gentlemen, sud- 
denly seizing his oars, “ the boat is heading down stream, 
while we are off in dreamland. Come, this sun is scorch- 
ing; let us get into the cool shade of those temptingly in- 
viting trees opposite.” 

With a laugh, Frank Brand seized his oars. 

“ Christopher Columbus ! you are right, Clifford, ” he an- 
swered. “The heat of those sunbeams is oppressive; 
but this scene is so beautiful I lost sight of that. Here 
goes with a will, old boy,” and with the long, sweeping 
strokes of practised rowers, the two young men sent the 
boat swiftly across the river. 

“Come, confess. Brand,” Mr. Clifford said, with pleasant 
malice, “ were you not engaged in a mental conjugation of 
the verb amare 1 The symptoms are loss of appetite, un- 
conscious sighing, absence of mind ” 

“ A personal experience could alone make you so con- 
versant with all the symptoms,” Brand interrupted, flush- 
ing hotly, conscious that his companions were smiling at 
him. 

“No, my dear fellow,” Clifford responded, with that 
languid, difficile grace so peculiar to him and so provoking 
to Brand, “ I never permit my peace of mind to be dis- 
turbed in that way. I am a planet many degrees removed 
from the sun, you know — hold on, or we shall run into the 
bank,” as the boat was sent with a sudden impetus under 
the outspreading branches of a splendid cedar. 

“We will take them by surprise,” Mr. D’Arcy observed 
as they ascended the sloping bank and walked on through 
the thick grass and rank vegetation. “ They are quite un- 
prepared for my coming; they do not expect that I shall 
return to the farm before evening.” 


120 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


All three paused suddenly and glanced through an open- 
ing in the trees as the sound of voices came floating on 
the summer air and a fresh young laugh, sweet as a chime 
of silver bells, rang out. It was an idyllic scene. 

A natural avenue, formed by a double row of splendid 
elm trees, led to a rude wooden structure surmounted by 
a cross, which at once proclaimed the sacred character of 
the edifice. 

The door was laid back, the low, broad windows were 
all open; a bright, intelligent-looking colored girl was 
carrying an armful of green boughs up the path. Connor, 
seated in the branch of a tree, was in the act of fastening 
up a garland, with which a young colored man mounted 
upon a ladder was assisting him ; a number of garlands 
were already suspended from tree to tree across the 
avenue. 

On the trunk of a magnificent elm, under the shade of 
its drooping boughs, sat a girl surrounded by fresh green 
branches, which she was daintily assisting a youth at her 
feet to wreathe into garlands. She was dressed in black ; 
a large, wide-brimmed straw hat encircled by a black 
gossamer scarf rested upon the glittering hair and shaded 
the dazzling complexion. This was not pretty, disconso- 
late Eva, wrapped in the old plaid shawl in the poor attic- 
room in Charlotte Street, but Eva beautiful, bright, joy- 
ous, surrounded by what was to her as the breath of life, 
all the comforts and luxuries which wealth could pur- 
chase. 

Teddy, too, was looking brighter and stronger as, 
regardless of the many blisters on his slender, delicate 
hands, he talked and worked away. 

A little distance farther on was another group. 

Kate D’Arcy was seated on the thick grass, a heap of 
snowy muslin and cloudy lace in her lap, the old smile on 


Co 7 inor D'Arcy's Struggles. 121 

her but a thoughtful shadow in her handsome eyes; 
near her Denise was fastening blue and gold tassels to a 
blue silk banner, which two men, kneeling at her feet, 
were busily employed securing to gilded poles; a little 
banneret just completed lay on the grass, which the sun, 
gleaming through the trees, wove into a shimmering carpet 
of green and gold. 

With his hands clasped behind him, a look of pleased 
interest on his thin, worn face, stood a priest. 

He was talking pleasantly to the little group as he 
leaned forward, intent on the progress of their work; 
occasionally, as Eva’s laugh rang out, he glanced with a 
gentle smile at the youthful figures under the opposite elm 
tree. 

A man armed with a long broom was sweeping in front 
of the little chapel, from within which the sound of vigor- 
ous hammering proceeded; an air of cheerful alacrity and 
pleased anticipation prevailed. 

It was a lovely scene, and one which Marmaduke Clif- 
ford, with his fine artistic soul and keen appreciation of 
the beautiful, longed to see transferred to canvas. 

“Such a pity it should be lost,” he thought. 

“I wish. Father Donnatti,” came in Denise’s fresh, clear 
voice at this juncture, “that we had dear Lotta here to 
help; she has such exquisite taste.” 

“ I regret the absence of your young friend, my dear 
child, if her presence would give you happiness; but I am 
delighted to think that our festival promises to be a 
perfect triumph, a festival of nature, a festival of hearts 
uniting to rejoice in the glorious triumph of the Queen of 
Angels.” 

The deep, incisive voice of the priest sounded distinctly 
in the ears of the three men. 

“ Ah, but, Father, you do not know what an acquisition 


122 


Connor D ' Arcy' Struggles. 


Miss von Rosenberg would be. Her taste is simply per- 
fect,” Kate interposed, her needle suspended above her 
work, her eyes turned with an upward glance to the pale, 
worn face bent over them. 

The answer hovering on the lips of the priest was inter- 
rupted by a shrill little cry from Eva, who had just caught 
sight of her father. 

“Papa! papa!” 

Springing delightedly to her feet, she scattered leaves 
and branches as she rushed to meet the trio, who now 
advanced from their concealment. 

Frank Brand flushed like a schoolboy as he shook hands 
with the ladies. Kate said a few pleasant words as her 
brother presented Mr. Clifford. 

Like Connor, he was tall, dark, and strikingly handsome. 
His features were of the fine, delicate Roman type; his ^ 
hair a rich, dark chestnut; his eyes, a deep violet-gray, 
were long and almond-shaped, surmounted by finely-arched 
black brows and slightly drooping eyelids; his hands and 
feet were small and delicately shaped, his complexion pale 
and slightly olive; the fine curve of his lips and arch of' 
his handsome eyebrows told that he was proud and pain- 
fully fastidious. He looked so cool and handsome in his 
summer suit of white grasscloth, sheer as muslin, as he 
stood beneath the shade of the trees, his head uncovered, 
his wide-brimmed hat in his left hand as he bowed to the 
ladies, then cordially shook hands with Father Donnatti. 

Connor, dropping from his perch in the tree, came for- 
ward followed by Teddy. 

“ My sons, Connor and Teddy, Mr. Clifford. My dear 
boys, this gentleman is my friend Mr.* Clifford, of whom 
you have so often heard me speak and with whom I have 
much pleasure in making you acquainted.” ; 

Connor’s clear eyes looked straight into those of this 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


123 


new acquaintance and encountered an equally searching 
glance; then the hands of both met in a warm clasp. 

Eva had seized upon Frank Brand, who was her special 
favorite, and with both hands clasped round his arm was 
drawing him away to the chapel. 

“Just come and see! We’ve got all beautifully done, 
and the men have swept away the litter; we have got the 
large statue of Our Lady on the pedestal, and auntie is 
finishing the drapery. The little statue will be borne in 
procession under a white silk canopy, and oh, Mr. Brand, 
don’t you think the banners are just beautiful? This is 
the chapel — only a poor little place, you know, but isn’t it 
pretty ?” 

With large, expectant eyes fixed upon his face, she 
waited breathlessly for his answer. 

He respectfully uncovered as they entered the little 
building and looked around. The hammering had ceased. 
Sara, Denise’s maid, a bright, intelligent-looking colored 
girl, was on her knees arranging something at the altar. 

It was only an humble wooden edifice, possibly in point 
of construction not one degree removed from the stable at 
Bethlehem; but it looked sweet, cool, and picturesque; 
everything was immaculately clean, from the well-swept 
floor to the pure white linen on the altar. The rude walls 
were hidden by green boughs and tasteful garlands; the 
rough benches gave evidence of having been well scoured, 
and were carefully arranged so as to leave a passage- 
way on either side. A beautiful white statue of Mary 
Immaculate, the gift of Kate D’Arcy, stood upon a pedestal 
enthroned in green boughs, with clusters of unlit wax can- 
dles glimmering through. 

The sanctuary and steps of the little altar were covered 
with a rich white carpet, dotted here and there with 
bunches of green moss under white lilies; it had been pre- 


124 


Co7inor D' Arcfs Struggles. 


sented by Denise for feast days. The six tall candlesticks 
shone like burnished gold against the green branches that 
formed the background. 

The peaceful altar, with long rays of sunlight falling 
athwart it from the low, broad windows, intensifying the 
glitter of the candlesticks, the white statue gleaming purely 
in its green bower, the quiet hush, the silent awe in the 
faces and attitudes of the two rough-looking men who, 
having just finished nailing up the last garland, stood 
quietly gazing around them — all tended to impress Frank 
Brand as nothing had ever done before. 

“Yes,” he said, answering Eva’s low, eager whisper 
in the same tones, “it is sweetly beautiful.” 

“ See, this is the little statue that is to be carried in pro- 
cession to-morrow. We’ve not brought any flowers yet; 
we’ll bring them to-morrow morning; we want them to be 
fresh, you know.” 

“ I think it is just perfect.” 

“Oh! but it will look lovely with the flowers and 
lighted candles.” 

“Yes,” Frank answered abstractedly as Clifford and 
Teddy, followed by the others, entered. 

Mr. Brand was not a Catholic, but he would have been 
very indignant if any one had presumed to doubt his claims 
to be considered a good Christian; but religion had never 
disturbed his peace of mind. Years ago he used to attend 
the old parish church every Sunday with his parents and 
such of his brothers and sisters who, like himself, were 
home from school. 

Being a younger son he had to choose a profession, and 
when little more than twenty his father purchased for him 
a junior partnership in a London mercantile house of long 
standing. After a time, finding him possessed of good 
business qualities, the elder partners intrusted him with 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 125 

the management of a branch house in New York, which 
under his care flourished rapidly. 

Shrewd and practical, although he invested largely in 
railway, mining, and other shares, his speculations always 
proved safe and highly remunerative. 

Since coming to America he had had little time — or 
thought he had had, which was much the same — to devote 
to the practice of religion, and seldom attended any place 
of worship; when he did, it mattered little to him where 
he went if the music was good or the preaching exciting. 
Somewhere hidden away in his breast was a secret spark 
of antagonism to Catholicism and all its teachings; but 
the spark emitted no light on the present occasion, and he 
was blissfully unconscious of its presence. 

His eyes followed Kate and Denise as they approached 
the statue; Kate carrying across her arms the heap of 
white muslin which she had fastened to a coronal, and 
which Connor proceeded to secure above the statue with 
Clifford’s assistance. 

The snowy muslin and lace fell in soft, billowy folds 
around the silent figure, and Kate knelt to carefully 
arrange the drapery so as not to come in contact with the 
candles when lighted. Denise stood with hands locked 
loosely together watching the workers; Mr. D’Arcy with 
a pleased smile on his face was whispering with Father 
Donnatti ; Teddy was at the altar rail. The banners were 
carried in by the two men, and everything having been 
completed, they all silently quitted the little chapel, and 
having securely locked the door, the priest accompanied 
them to the river’s edge, conversing pleasantly on the way. 

“ You have reason to be proud of the work of your 
hands. Miss Denise,” Mr. Clifford said as he walked by 
her side. 

“Not my hands alone, Mr. Clifford,” Denise answered, 


126 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


with a shy blush and bright smile ; “ it is said that many 
hands make work light, and I think our combined efforts 
have accomplished something pleasing.” 

“ It is more beautiful, more touching to the soul in its 
rude simplicity than the fairest cathedral raised by the 
hands of man ; that little altar looks fairer in my eyes than 
an altar flashing with gold and gems, such as I have seen. 
What is so acceptable to the Divine Creator as the hearts 
of His creatures? You have proved the love which ani- 
mates your heart by dedicating your time to the adorn- 
ment of that poor little shed, into which Christ condescends 
to enter for love of His poor creatures; you have offered 
to Him a tribute of His gifts, thus rendering to God the 
things that are God’s, and to-morrow men and angels will 
rejoice in the work of your hands.” 

Denise looked up with a glad light in her eyes. 

” You are a Catholic, Mr. Clifford ?” 

“ I am a Catholic, thank God!” he answered, reverently 
raising his hat. 

“I am so glad!” impulsively extending her hand. “It 
makes things so much more pleasant. Don’t you think 
so, Mr. Clifford?” 

He looked down into the eloquent, innocent, upturned 
face as he took the little gloved hand in his. 

“Yes,” he answered, “it is pleasant to know that those 
whose friendship we value are one in faith with us.” 

“ It is such a pity that Mr. Brand is not a Catholic also; 
he is so nice and agreeable, we all like him so much ; he 
is an especial favorite with Eva.” 

“Your sister is little more than a beautiful child, but” — 
with a slight laugh — “ I think. Miss Denise, that the con- 
version of Brand would not prove a sinecure to any friend 
who might undertake it; he is comfortably unconscious of 
his spiritual wants, and I believe if once aroused would 


Connor D ' Arcfs Strt:ggus. 


12 / 


prove an obstinate subject. It is a pity, for he is a really 
good fellow and I esteem him highly.” 

They had reached the others, who were waiting their 
approach; then all shook hands with Father Donnatti, who 
stood watching them as they pushed out into the stream. 

Connor took an oar, and in his full, rich tenor com- 
menced to sing the “Canadian Boat Song,” which was 
instantly taken up by all the other gentlemen but Mr. 
D’Arcy, who leaned back and listened. 

The words and music floated back pleasantly to Father 
Donnatti as he stood gazing after them, and uncon- 
sciously Frank Brand’s eyes were drawn back with a 
strange fascination to the tall, thin, black-robed figure 
standing under the cedar tree, with the river softly lapping 
the bank at his feet. 


Cbapter 


“ Pure fell the beams and meekly bright 
On his gray holy hair, 

And touched the book with tenderest light, 

As if its shrine were there ! 

But oh ! that Patriarch’s aspect shone 
With something lovelier far — 

A radiance all the spirit’s own. 

Caught not from sun or star.” — M rs. Hemans. 

N O more beautiful day ever dawned than that fifteenth 
of August, the Feast of the Assumption. At an early 
hour the little chapel was crowded ; door and win- 
dows were open to admit the air; the atmosphere was close 
and heavy with the breath of lovely white lilies and helio- 
tropes; meek little anemones, red columbines, great yellow 
and purple violets, with pale wildwood geraniums clustered 
in graceful profusion around the statue of Mary Immacu- 
late, fresh, odorous, and grateful offerings to the Queen 
of Angels. 

But what a tribute of praise, of love, of adoration 
offered up to the Eternal Throne was the intense devotion, 
the silent awe, the rapt attention which characterized the 
demeanor of the poor, rude, but faithful worshippers dur- 
ing the celebration of Holy Mass. 

Frank Brand watched the priest, and noticed with sur- 
prise the devotion of the people, rude sons and daughters 
of toil, all but the D’Arcy party. 

At the conclusion of the Gospel Father Donnatti 
preached on the virtues, the sufferings, the triumphs of 

128 


Coniior D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


29 


Mary; eloquent, glowing, passionate words — words that 
moved the hearts of his hearers as the waters of a mighty 
torrent sweep onward in their rapid course the frail objects 
that float upon its surface. 

Women wept, and the hard, weather-browned faces of 
the men worked with repressed emotion. 

Mr. Brand listened with fast-increasing attention, 
watching in mute astonishment the face of the preacher 
as he stood in his white alb, the golden sunlight falling on 
his silvery hair, lighting up his pale, aesthetic face and 
glowing eyes with a light that never shone on land or sea; 
and as he listened, carried beyond himself, Frank Brand 
by his very presence, by his reverent silence, his profound 
attention, paid all unconsciously a mute tribute to Mary 
Immaculate and her Divine Son. 

The charm of a pair of bright eyes had brought him 
here, had caused him to beg leave to accompany the 
D’Arcys and his friend Clifford to that humble little place. 
Had any one presumed to ask him that morning if that 
visit was prompted by a desire to become acquainted with 
the truths of Catholicism he would have resented the in- 
quiry with a burst of angry indignation. 

Yet here he was — eyes, heart, brain absorbed in the 
words which flowed like the stream of a rapid river from 
the lips of that white-haired priest, whom at one time he 
would have stigmatized as no better than a priest of 
Buddha; listening with tingling nerves and rapidly throb- 
bing pulses; the long-sleeping soul, strangely stirred, flut- 
tered into a troubled disquietude; listening, so carried away 
by the words of the preacher, that he never once glanced 
at the fair face that had been the sole attraction in bring- 
ing him hither, the face that, from the first hour in which 
he had beheld it, had never ceased to haunt his sleeping 
and waking dreams. 

9 


30 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


At the conclusion of the sermon he unconsciously bent 
his head as the others did when the priest made the sign 
of the cross in blessing, and mechanically rose to his feet 
at the Credo. He read the book which Connor had handed 
to him with an outward appearance of quiet attention; but 
he was strangely pale. 

The 'words; Hoc est enim Corpus Meum.^'' “ Take and 
eat ye all of this., for this is My Body f those thrillingly 
sublime words of Christ to His disciples, arrested his 
attention, and as he lingered over them, pondering deeply 
the while, there occurred to him a passage in Hidelbert’s 
“ O ratio Devotissiniaf almost forgotten, but flowing strange- 
ly now through his mind, and he found himself mentally 
repeating: 


“ Son of God, Thy Father’s equal, 

Of His substance, and arrayed 
In the brightness of His glory. 

Maker ! yet like creature made. 

In ouV garb of flesh Thou earnest 
For our rescue from on high. 

Born in time, though everlasting. 

Deathless, thou didst come to die; 

God in man, and man in Godhead, 

God with mortal flesh allied. 

Manhood not with God confounded, 

Godhead not undeified. 

One in Godhead with the Father, 

He has mortal flesh assumed. 

Man is to God’s bosom taken. 

And yet man is unconsumed. 

God Most High and Virgin Mother, 

Claim that first begotten Son.” 

“ Bah!” he thought, closing his book as the last blessing 
was given and Father Donnatti followed his three aco- 
lytes from the little altar, passing through an open door 
on one side into a rudely constructed room, elevated to 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 131 

the dignity of vestry. “ Bah ! what have / to do with such 
enigmas? Theology is not in my line. To what an absurd 
length has the preaching of that man carried me! It must 
be the strength of his convictions which lend such force to 
his words. If he really believes all he teaches — and he 
appears to — that is his affair, not mine ; why should / per- 
mit myself to be disturbed by his belief? Such a faith no 
doubt suits the ignorant and uneducated who delight in 
miracles, but for a man of education in the nineteenth 
century it is quite too absurd, too nonsensical.” 

But the feeling would not be crushed out, reason as he 
might; the small voice that would not be silenced kept 
whispering in his soul. 

He looked around him, and, passing his hand through 
his bright, ruddy hair, smiled scornfully at his late weak- 
ness, but flushed hotly the next instant as he met a pair of 
handsome eyes turned earnestly on his face; there was no 
smile in the eyes nor on the fair face turned toward him, 
but there was a sad wistfulness that somehow irritated him. 

A few minutes later Denise, followed by Mr. Clifford 
and Connor, went into the vestry, and Mr. D’Arcy, leaning 
toward Frank Brand, whispered: 

“ The procession will not form for a few minutes; if you 
find it too hot here we will go out till the signal is given.” 

Frank gladly acceded, but to his intense disappointment 
Kate and Eva remained behind. 

A number of the poor people followed the example set 
by the two gentlemen and sought the cool shade of the 
trees. 

Inside the little vestry there was a pretty scene. 

Father Donnatti was unvested and was standing in his 
alb. He was looking pale and exhausted, but he was smil- 
ing benignly on the little group by which he was sur- 
rounded. 


32 


Co7inor JD'Arcy's Struggles. 


Teddy, in white surplice, was holding a handsome pro- 
cessional cross, the gift of his father; the two young 
acolytes were preparing the thurifer and incense; Mr. 
Clifford was looking at a beautiful white silk canopy, 
while Connor was reverently drawing forth a handsome 
cope of rich white poplin and gold brocade, which, as the 
sunlight fell upon it, sent forth a blinding flash. 

At that moment Denise entered through a doorway at 
the far end of the rude apartment. 

“You really must come away. Father Donnatti,” she 
said, approaching the priest, “ just for a minute, you 
know. Mary has a lovely cup of tea waiting for you, and 
you are much too exhausted after that long, exquisite ser- 
mon you preached us to fast any longer.” 

“ But the good people are waiting, my dear child!” 

“ Let them wait. Father,” she answered, with her bright 
smile; “they have each and every one of them had break- 
fast hours ago, while you have tasted nothing since last 
night.” 

Clifford glanced across at the two figures, the figure of 
the priest in his white alb and the figure of the girl in her 
black gown. He so worn and aged, even beyond his 
sixty-eight years of life, aged by the toil, the trials, the 
vicissitudes of his long missionary labors; she so fresh, 
so impulsive, so fair, so innocent; he standing so near to 
the verge of the great unknown land ; she — 

“ Standing with reluctant feet 
Where the brook and river meet, 

Womanhood and childhood fleet.” 

He sighed inaudibly and took a step to where they stood. 

“Let me beg that you will listen to Miss Denise,” he 
said, with respectful entreaty; “you are utterly exhausted 
and positively stand in need of a refreshment. You know, 
Father, that ten minutes will suffice.” 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


133 


With a dubious shake of the head and a pleased smile 
on the worn face, Father Donnatti allowed Clifford to lead 
him away. 

The ringing of a bell recalled the loiterers, and as they 
re-entered the chapel they found that the procession was 
being formed, and each dropped quietly into place, Teddy 
as cross-bearer going first ; everything was perfectly en rigle. 

The silence, the respectful attention, the profound 
happiness and admiration on every face were good to be- 
hold as the humble processionists passed out of the little 
building — out under the blue sky, under the drooping 
elms, where the sunlight, mellow and golden, flashed down 
on the glittering cross, on the acolytes in their white sur- 
plices, on the silver hair and shimmering robe of the priest ; 
on the statue of Mary, refuge of sinners, surrounded by 
green boughs and dainty flowers, borne under a canopy of 
gleaming white silk fringed with gold; on the handsome 
banners, on twenty-four girlish figures clad in white, all 
wearing the badge of “Children of Mary,” and on the 
weather-stained features of sturdy men and women with 
healthy, sunburnt children clinging to their skirts, sending 
a brilliant flash as if in loving benediction on all as they 
turned slowly down the avenue of elms and overhanging 
garlands. Then up through the elms — up through the 
blue ether swelled the music of many voices in the beauti- 
ful hymn; 

“ See, to God’s high temple above 
Mounts amid angel hymns of love 
The mystical ark of grace. 

See aloft on victory’s throne, 

Blended in glory both Mother and Son 
In one eternal embrace! ” 

At the conclusion of the last verse they re-entered the 
chapel and paused in front of the statue of Mary Immacu- 
late, where the lighted tapers gleamed whitely against 


134 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

their green background, and the sweet flowers sent out 
fragrant odors which mingled with the incense as it rose in 
soft clouds around the white statue. All stood while the 
hymn “ Immaculate” was being sung; at its conclusion the 
people returned to their benches, and the priest entered 
the little sanctuary and ascended the altar steps, where 
tier after tier of lights and flowers rose upward, reaching 
above the altar. Amid a hush of profound awe the sacred 
Host was placed above the tabernacle, and like heavenly 
music Mozart’s “O Salutaris” burst upon eager, listening 
ears. Four girls and two young men, who had been in 
training for the past three weeks, a little timidly at first, 
joined in. 

As Denise’s splendid voice broke upon the stillness, 
Clifford turned his eyes upon her with a strange, startled 
look. The Litany, the Anthem, the “Tantum Ergo” had 
been sung, the last amen had slowly died away, and every 
head was bent to receive the benediction of our dear Lord. 
Only then, when his proud head was bent in deepest 
humility before the Lord of Hosts, did Clifford turn his 
gaze from the face of the unconscious girl, who never 
dreamed that the man who dropped the gold into her 
shrinking, outstretched hand, as she stood in the shadow, 
away from the glare of the brilliantly lighted Albany, with 
the snow falling around her and drifting pitilessly into 
her face on that cold February evening, now so far away 
and yet so seldom absent from her mind — the man whose 
money had for the time being saved her mother’s life, was 
now kneeling within a few feet of her, listening to her 
voice and thinking of that other voice which he had heard 
that bitter February evening on the streets of London, 
and wondering at the strange resemblance between this 
voice and that other one; wondering and watching the 
sweet young face as if fascinated. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 135 

They were all out, gathered in clusters under the shade 
of the elms. Father Donnatti was moving from one little 
knot to another, with a kind word for all. 

Every heart was filled with delight, and a few ventured 
to give expression to their feelings. It had been so beauti- 
ful, the decorations, the statues, the banners, the proces- 
sion. They had never heard such singing; it might have 
been the angels that came down to carry Our Lady up to 
heaven, singing in triumph. 

Many of those present had a considerable distance to go, 
and this was why Father Donnatti had had Benediction 
after Mass. He knew that there were many there who 
could not return in the evening, so he meant that all 
should fully participate in the blessings of the day. 

Kate and Denise were talking kindly to some of the 
women and children, while Eva condescendingly bestowed 
smiles and a handful of small coins on the latter, who 
regarded her with open-mouthed admiration. 

Eva was not too prodigal with the goods that God had 
sent her, but it was .so nice to act the Lady Bountiful in a 
small way; besides, those ignorant little creatures evi- 
dently admired while they stood in awe of her grace and 
beauty, and Eva liked to be admired and appreciated ; but 
she could not bear to pat the little boys on their shoulders, 
or to smooth the heads of the little girls with a gentle, 
caressing touch, as Aunt Kate and Denise were doing; 
doing so might soil her gloves, and she just hated to have 
her gloves made dirty by contact with such rough-looking 
little things. 

Many were the admiring glances and murmured bless- 
ings that followed the D’Arcy party to their boat, the 
priest walking with them to the water’s edge, while in a few 
gentle words he thanked them for the happiness which 
they had that day bestowed upon his poor people. 


136 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


“ For myself, ” he added, “ it has been one of the happiest 
days of my life, in very truth a red-letter day.” 

“ Then I think I may venture to say we have all shared 
your feelings. Father,” Kate responded, with her bright, 
winsome smile, her handsome eyes glancing rapidly round 
the little circle; and every voice answered that glance, 
“ An exceedingly happy day;” but even as Denise’s tongue 
formed the v/ords, her heart cried out sadly, “ Oh, why did 
mamma not live to share in this day’s happiness?” 

Ah, why indeed ? Who could tell ? 

“ Your life must be very lonely and barren here !” Frank 
Brand remarked, making an effort to say something, 
“isolated as you are from all congenial society.” 

“ I have not much time to feel lonely ; my people are 
pretty widely scattered over this district, Mr. Brand, and 
I like to visit them all frequently. It is true that they are 
for the most part rude and illiterate; but the duties of a 
priest are always congenial. Society and I have been so 
long apart that we have mutually agreed to forget each 
other.” 

“When a refined and intellectual man can conform his 
mind to such duties, it is perhaps the safest plan he caii pur- 
sue,” Frank answered, with a laugh, “but it takes some 
drilling, I have no doubt.” 

The spark of antagonism which had so long lain hidden 
away in the young man’s breast had ignited and was 
burning fiercely long before they had quitted the chapel, 
and he had come forth a very different Frank Brand to the 
Frank Brand who had entered that building a few short 
hours before. 

He had entered it, pleased to be in the near vicinity of 
the woman he loved; he quitted it, feeling enraged with 
himself and every one else, but too thoroughly a gentleman 
to make a display of his feelings, yet resolved to leave 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


137 


Beechville and its neighborhood in a day or two, go to 
Long Branch, Newport, or the Catskill Mountains. It did 
not matter much where he went for a few weeks, if only 
he could overcome this foolish infatuation ; if not — well, 
if she loved him and became his wife, she must conform 
to his religious views. 

He did not pause to ask himself what peculiar shape his 
religious views took. It was just possible that even to him- 
self he could not have given that question a satisfactory 
answer ; he might decline to answer such a very imperti- 
nent question, satisfying himself with the assurance that, 
like every other Christian gentleman, he had religious 
views; but as he was the keeper of his own conscience, 
it did not matter to any one what those views were. He 
believed in the sacredness of the married state, and in the 
perfect union of mind and soul as being to married life 
what perfume is to the flower — the essence necessary to 
perfection. 

“ It is a wife’s duty,” he argued mentally, “ to be guided 
in all things by her husband. '' Onmia vincit amor ‘I.ove 
conquers all things,’ and love shall conquer her religious 
scruples,” and with these consoling thoughts he subdued 
his irritation and shared in the general talk. 

“Ave ! Ave ! Mother bright, 

Guard us through the coming night.” 

Denise looked up with wide-open, startled eyes, then 
shrank back pale and trembling, and leaning over the side 
of the boat, gazed down into the sunlit waters. 

“O Mr. Clifford!” Eva cried, bending eagerly for- 
ward, “ do you know that ? We used to sing it — that was 
long ago when dear mamma was alive, you know; she 
liked to hear us sing it, it sounded so beautiful when 
Lottchen sang with us. It is so long since we have sung it 
now, though.” 


138 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 

Mr. D’Arcy touched the rippling masses of his daugh- 
ter’s shining hair with a caressing hand. 

“Some day you must all sing it for me,” he said 
gently. 

“It is Lottchen’s song, papa,” Eva answered. “How 
did you know it, Mr. Clifford ?” 

Kate D’Arcy fanned herself slowly, but somehow her 
hand would tremble and her color would keep coming and 
going in time to the beating of her heart as she listened 
for the answer to unconscious Eva’s question. 

“ My dear Miss Eva, I must plead ignorance,” Clifford an- 
swered. “ The one occasion upon which I heard that sung 
was last February on the streets of London. It was sung 
by a young girl ; she had the most splendid voice which up 
to that hour I had ever heard. You remember it. Brand ?” 

“Yes,” Brand answered. “Her voice was something 
magnificent, I tell you ; it took the breath from us fellows. ” 

“ A rather remarkable song, I should imagine, for a 
London street singer,” Mr. D’Arcy observed. 

“I should scarcely class this girl with street singers; 
although a girl possessed of such a voice who could 
deliberately run such a risk must have been endowed with 
a large amount of courage, and what Englishmen call 
pluck.” 

“ In other words, Mr. Clifford, you think it required 
some audacity on the part of a young girl to sing on the 
streets of London ?” Kate asked, a crimson spot on either 
cheek and her blue eyes flashing as she sat erect. 

“I think. Miss D’Arcy, that the streets of a large city 
are scarcely the place for any girl of delicacy or natural 
refinement to select for the exhibition of her talents. I 
look upon such an act as dangerous alike to mind and 
morals,” he responded severely. 

“ If that is really your view of the case, Mr. Clifford, I 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


139 


consider it a very unjust, one-sided view. In all large cities 
there are many very strange cases which you who have 
been born and reared in the lap of luxury cannot under- 
stand. How can you, how can we judge the motives 
which impelled that young girl to, as you say, ‘exhibit her 
talents on the streets of London’ ? Perhaps driven by 
hunger, what was still more likely, in a moment of des- 
pair, she had remembered only that God had bestowed that 
gift upon her, and that through it she might save the life 
of some one very dear to her, a — a parent — a brother — a 
sister who at that very hour was perhaps slowly dying of 
hunger and cold, in some miserable place which they 
called by the sweet name of home. Do you not think that 
her heavenly Father, who understood the motive which 
prompted the act, would protect her? Ah, there are so 
many uncrowned saints in this world that only the judg- 
ment day will reveal to us. But I am afraid, Mr. Clifford, 
we all of us require to be purified by suffering and poverty, 
before we can understand the true meaning of charity to 
our neighbors.” 

A faint glow overspread Mr. Clifford’s haughty face as 
he listened. 

“I stand corrected. Miss D’Arcy,” he answered, with a 
courteous bow. “ You are right — I am afraid charity is 
not my peculiar virtue — it was a case on which I had no 
right to sit in judgment. The girl’s voice was so — so 
utterly above that kind of thing, even at the time it struck 
me that she was running a great risk in exposing it and 
herself in such a place.” 

“I think,” Frank remarked, a little eagerly, “that the 
poor girl must have been driven to it, for she was awfully 
shy. You remember, Clifford, that after you joined us, 
when you sent your man requesting her to sing again, 
she disappeared, and never returned all the time we re- 


140 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

mained at the Albany, She had certainly a magnificent 
voice.” 

“Yes,” Clifford slowly answered as the boat neared the 
bank, 

“Poor girl!” Kate said, with a laugh, “she doubtless 
never dreamed of the honor in store for her, when she 
should form a subject of conversation for us, at this dis- 
tance of time and place.” 

Only Kate could understand the agony, the shame, the 
humiliation which Denise endured as she listened, with 
heart and brain throbbing, to every word that fell from 
Marmaduke Clifford’s lips, to his voice so full of scorn, so 
pitiless, so utterly cruel, and she longed to take the poor 
girl in her arms and comfort her. 

Mr. Clifford extended his hand to assist Denise from the 
boat; a faint color flashed into her white face and a proud 
light into her eyes, and with a coldly uttered “Thanks!” 
she declined the proffered help and shrank to her father’s 
side. Mistaking the action for girlish shyness, he turned 
to Eva, who was laughing and chatting with childish 
abandon. 





'nr* 


Chapter 

“Oh, how full of briers is this working-day world.” 

— As You Like It. 

“ Now is now and then is then ; 

Seek now all the world throughout, 

Thou kenst not clowns from gentlemen.” 

‘‘ y^^SCAR, Oscar, good fellow, bring me my basket.” 

A panting, rushing sound, and a huge dog 
bounded to the side of a young girl who was 
stooped in the act of fastening up the tendrils of a vine 
which the wind and rain of the previous night had beaten 
down. 

“ My basket, Oscar, bring it. There is no use, I am not 
going out for a walk until I have first fastened up those 
vines; just see how badly they have been hurt, and we 
could not leave them like that, you know.” 

Oscar drooped his feathery tail, disappointment and dis- 
approbation strongly expressed in his handsome canine 
face; but in an instant, with newly awakened intelligence, 
he bounded through an open window into the house, and 
was soon back, carrying a small basket, which he deposited 
beside his young mistress with a satisfied wag of his tail, 
fully conscious of having done his duty. 

“Good dog — splendid fellow! You shall not be de- 
prived of your scamper; when I have tied these up we 
shall go.” 

Oscar wagged his tail with redoubled energy and patted 
his young mistress’ arm with one great paw as she took 

141 


142 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


from the basket a pair of scissors and carefully snipped 
the broken tendrils. 

“ Oh, yes, I know you are very pleased, but you will soil 
my gown, old fellow. Now that’s accomplished, and we 
shall be off.” 

She rose and turned to pat her four-footed favorite, but 
he had again disappe,ared through the open window, and 
she smiled, knowing that he had gone to fetch her hat. 

It was fourteen months since Lotta von Rosenberg had 
come to preside over her uncle’s household, and during 
these months her life had been a very active one, her time 
fully employed. On her first arrival she was met by Mrs. 
Morgan, a stout, elderly woman who for six years had 
had undisputed management of all household matters. 
In consequence of which lengthened reign, the woman 
had come to regard herself as sole mistress of the farm, 
and resented Lotta’s coming to rule over her, almost in- 
solently refusing to wait upon her. But her rage knew 
no bounds when Lotta distinctly intimated that her uncle 
should no longer sit at the table with the “helps,” and 
insisted upon having his and her meals served in a room 
which, under her directions, Dan soon converted into a 
very cozy dining-room. 

It was in vain that Mrs. Morgan did everything in her 
power to thwart her young mistress, who calmly issued her 
orders, never , once condescending to notice the woman’s 
bitterness and ill-temper. 

For the first three months Mrs. Morgan fought a hard 
battle for supremacy, but only to submit in the end. She 
could not endure to meet the full glance of the beautiful 
hazel eyes, always so serene and smiling. She hated Lotta 
with an intense hatred; she hated her for coming to inter- 
fere with her authority, she hated her high-bred voice, 
her lovely face, her graceful figure, her dainty, refined 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


143 


ways; she sneered at the small white hands, at the creamy 
pallor of the perfect complexion, and called it sickly; but 
above all, she hated Lotta for the calm dignity of tone and 
manner under which she writhed, but which she felt her- 
self powerless to resist. 

Mr. von Rosenberg told Lotta to make whatever 
changes she thought necessary in the house; as all he had 
was hers, she might as well have the house and gardens 
fixed up to please her own taste. He knew the house 
would want a good deal of setting up to make it fit for 
her, but there was plenty of money, and she must have 
whatever she wanted. If Mrs. Morgan gave her any 
trouble he would send her away and get some one else in 
her place; but helps were very hard to get. Americans 
would not become servants, and any emigrants who came 
out West were for the most part unfit for domestic work. 

Lotta went on a tour of investigation through the house. 
The rooms, though clean, had a dreary, cheerless appear- 
ance, and to one who had always been accustomed to 
comfort and a certain amount of luxury the prospect was 
certainly discouraging; but she made no complaint against 
Mrs. Morgan, and at once decided to retain her if she 
could succeed in moulding her to her wishes. She knew 
that the woman’s services were indispensable. 

After considerable trouble and scouring over the coun- 
try, Mr. von Rosenberg succeeded in finding a girl who, 
on receiving the promise of a very liberal remuneration, 
consented to “come for a spell,” as she expressed it, 
“ and help Miss von Rosenberg. She objected some to 
going out, but when a neighbor was in a fix she didn’t 
mind helping them through.” 

So Malinda Greely had taken up her abode at “Fall 
Farm” for a month or two, and had long since ceased to 
talk about going away. 


144 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 


After a time Mrs. Morgan became outwardly submis- 
sive, with a mingling of would-be defiance and sullen 
respect; but for Lotta the battle was not won. 

The interior of the house soon took on a new aspect; 
every apartment gave token of a refining hand, and Mr. 
von Rosenberg expressed his pleasure and satisfaction, 
and placed Dan at Lotta’s disposal to assist her in the 
management of the garden, shrubbery, orchard, and poul- 
try-yard. 

Dan was delighted with this arrangement, and when his 
young mistress, who dearly loved a gallop, rode out, he 
constituted himself groom, although his apparel was by 
no means consistent with his pretensions. 

At Father Burke’s request Lotta visited the poor of the 
district, and soon realized that there was quite a number of 
idle, lazy, improvident families in the vicinity, although 
there was every facility for improving their condition. 
She did her best among them, and readily responded to 
the good priest’s desire for Sunday classes and weekly 
meetings. 

After a time she had the pleasure of knowing that her 
efforts had not been in vain, and that knowledge repaid 
her. 

Mr. von Rosenberg was a devout lover of music, and 
when the weather was propitious his every leisure hour was 
spent upon the piazza, while through the open windows 
floated sweet strains from Mendelssohn, Beethoven, or 
Mozart, and he smoked and dreamed dreams of the long 
ago, when he was a youth in the fatherland, a gay B'ursche^ 
as merry and wild as any in the university. Sometimes 
during the long winter evenings they talked of her father. 
It gratified Lotta to see the deep interest with which her 
uncle listened to the story of his brother’s life; again and 
again he would recur to it, making her repeat all she knew. 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 


H5 

lie gave her a rhume of his own life since coming to 
America, and in their mutual confidences uncle and niece 
became more closely united. 

As Lotta now stood on the broad piazza half shaded 
from the brilliant sunshine by the clustering Madeira vines, 
there came to her, borne on the balmy air, rich aromatic 
odors from pine and evergreen and the musical murmur 
of a distant waterfall. 

She did not notice that Oscar had returned, carrying her 
hat and gloves, and was standing by her side, his great 
eyes fixed upon her face, mutely waiting until she would 
notice him. 

To a lover of nature no fairer scene could be presented 
than that upon which Lotta was gazing, but a shade of 
mingled displeasure and annoyance suddenly crossed her 
face as her eyes were attracted to two men who were 
coming toward the house. 

She stooped and patted the dog’s head gently. 

“ Ah, Oscar, good dog, there is an end to our scamper 
for just now ; delays are dangerous. Had we not waited to 
fasten up the vines, we might have escaped this visitor 
whom your master is bringing to us.” 

“ A letter for you, Lottchen, mein Kind.,'' Mr. von Rosen- 
berg called up to her, “ and Mr. Haviland brings for you 
a message from the good mother.” 

Lotta, leaning over the balustrade, saw the letter in her 
uncle’s hand. She knew it came from Denise or Kate 
D’Arcy, and forgetting her momentary annoyance, she 
gathered up her trailing skirts, ran swiftly down the steps, 
and stood pleased and excited at her uncle’s side. 

“A letter for me, uncle? Oh, thanks.” 

“Mr. Haviland brings a message for you, Lottchen.” 

“Ah, yes, I beg pardon. Good-morning, Mr. Haviland.'* 

She looked so eager, so happy, with such a glad light in 
lo 


46 


Connor D 'Aroy's Struggles. 


her beautiful eyes as she received the letter, that a bitter 
jealous pang pierced the young man’s heart and darkened 
the smile on his face as he took her extended hand. 

“Good-morning, Miss von Rosenberg; my mother com- 
missioned me to deliver a note to you. I am going to Pine 
Gully about the purchase of some cattle, and she knew I 
should be passing this way.’’ 

He partly drew forth a note, hesitating and glancing at 
the house. 

“Will you not come in? It is cooler inside than here. 
My niece has some splendid peaches and iced cream; after 
your ride they will refresh you ; besides, it is a good six- 
miles’ ride to Pine Gully,” Mr. von Rosenberg said hos- 
pitably. 

With a regretful little sigh Lotta dropped her precious 
letter into her pocket for future perusal and led the way 
into the house. 

“You are so happy and comfortable here, Mr. von 
Rosenberg, I envy you!” young Haviland remarked as 
they sat discussing Lotta’s peaches, iced cream, and 
biscuits. 

“ Ach., ja., I am happy with much comfort since Heaven 
sent me my little Lottchen.” 

“ And I should be the happiest man on earth if Heaven 
would bestow just such a gift upon me as your niece, Mr. 
von Rosenberg.” 

“ Ach ! gut, my young friend, you would not match my 
Lottchen in the States; but there are plenty nice girls 
about here who would make you a good wife. Choose one 
of them and settle down.” 

“ None of the girls to whom you allude would suit me, 
Mr. von Rosenberg; there is but one in all the world, and 
if she will not accept me I shall never call another woman 
wife.” 


Connor D *Arcy"s Struggles. 147 

“ Ach^ ja^ that is good, my young friend. Adam had 
just one Eve; there is just one Eve for each one of us, and 
yours will be coming some day soon. Lottchen, 7nein 
Kmd, will you please me with some music ? I have a little 
time on my hands.” 

Lotta gladly quitted her seat, thankful to escape, and 
felt like laughing aloud as she saw how dexterously her 
uncle intercepted Herbert Haviland as he prepared to 
follow her to the piano, engaging him in a conversation on 
cattle, crops, and seasons, past, present, and to come. 
But notwithstanding the young man’s desire to propitiate 
Mr. von Rosenberg, he was inattentive and distrait; he 
could hear only the delicious strains evoked by Lotta’s 
white fingers from the superb piano which her uncle had 
purchased for her in New York. 

Mr. von Rosenberg, as he talked with animation on the 
advisability of a new water-course which was to be of in- 
finite benefit to the neighborhood, watched his visitor’s 
face with inward amusement. He liked every one to admire 
and appreciate his beautiful niece, but no one should take 
her from her old uncle; on that point he was determined; 
besides, there was no young man whom he had yet seen 
who was worthy of her. 

From where he was seated Mr. von Rosenberg had a 
good view of the white road that wound past the farm, and 
along this road a man was advancing with quick, swinging 
strides. 

“ Here is young Pivot coming to bring me the good 
uncle’s answer,” Mr. von Rosenberg remarked presently, 
an amused twinkle coming into his blue eyes. “ We would 
have to cut past their place, and he has a right to share 
^the cost, as he would the profit and convenience.” 

“Yes, most decidedly!” Bertie answered, with a start 
and a flush. “ I think I will take myself off to Pine Gully, 


148 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


and as I have not yet given my mother’s note to Miss von 
Rosenberg, with your permission I will do so now.” 

He rose as a young man entered. 

The new-comer was not by any means bad-looking ; most 
people would call him handsome. There was a reckless 
daring in the bold eyes, in the pose of the head and mas- 
sive throat, which was innocent of necktie, in the arrange- 
ment of the ruddy-brow'ii hair, which was swept back from 
the broad brow, the lowness of which, with heavy eye- 
brows meeting across the nose, gave a sinister expression 
to the face. 

There was a certain rude grace about the man, although 
he lacked the polish of young Haviland, whom he affected 
to despise. 

Ever since the coming of Lotta to the farm there had 
sprung up a silent and bitter rivalry between the two young 
men. 

As Luke Pivot entered the room, Herbert Haviland 
approached Lotta. 

“ I have not yet given you my mother’s note. Miss von 
Rosenberg; but first let me thank you for the pleasure I 
have had in listening to you. I have never heard any one 
play as you do. But I have not yet had the pleasure of 
hearing you sing. May I hope that some day soon that 
happiness will be mine?” 

“I have not once sung since my dear father’s death,” 
she answered, letting her hands drop into her lap. 

A sad, wistful look crept into her clear eyes as her mind 
flew back to that last evening when she had sung to her 
dying parent Father Faber’s beautiful hymn — 

“ Hark ! hark ! my soul.” 

Herbert Haviland, watching her face, read something of 
her silent sufferings. 


Confior Z> 'Arcy's Struggles. 


149 


“ Pardon me if I have inadvertently recalled painful 
memories,” he said regretfully; “you know^ — Lottchen, 
do not be angry with me — you know I would give my life 
to make you happy.” 

She raised her eyes, a swift, angry light flashing into 
them, her eyebrows arching in haughty surprise; but as 
she read the misery and entreaty in the young man’s face, 
she said gently, but with icy coldness: 

“You are very kind, Mr. Haviland, but my dear uncle 
leaves me nothing to desire in the way of happiness. I have 
no wish left ungratified.” 

“ I know that your uncle understands the value of his 
treasure. Miss von Rosenberg, but can you blame me if I 
also, knowing its value, should long to appropriate it?” 

“ It is a vain desire, Mr. Haviland. I have already told 

you it can never be realized. Why will you ” She 

stopped short as Luke Pivot crossed the room to them. 

“ My aunt’s having a quilting-bee at our place on Thurs- 
day next for old Nance Dewar; I’ve been asking your 
uncle. Miss von Rosenberg, to let you come over. I guess 
there’ll be a dance and a supper in the evening. I reckon 
it’ll not be quite so smart an affair as you’re used to, but 
you won’t turn your back upon what’s done for charity, 
even if you don’t care a red cent for the fun. Say yes, 
and I’ll bring my new buggy over for you after breakfast. ” 

Young Haviland waited with suspended breath for the 
answer, while Luke Pivot stood eager, flushed, and just a 
little abashed before the girl, to win whose love he was 
determined to overcome every obstacle. 

She looked so dainty, so refined, so much the superior 
of any girl he had ever seen, that a hazy notion of the 
presumption of his request dawned upon him. 

“ If your aunt expects me, Mr. Pivot, I shall be sorry to 
disappoint her, but Thursday is my class evening, and 


150 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles. 


Father Burke and the children could not get on without 
me; the loss of one evening might entail the loss of 
several. The little ones would be glad of an excuse to 
absent themselves.” 

Father Burke be ” Luke Pivot burst out, with a 

heavy frown, but instantly seeing Lotta’s eyes flash open 
with a look of haughty displeasure, he amended, apolo- 
getically: 

“ I reckon Father Burke could do without you for once 
in a while. Don’t disappoint your friends, Miss von 
Rosenberg, for a lot of ignorant little shavers. We’ll 
all feel honored by your presence.” 

“ It is because they are ignorant that I could not think 
to disappoint the children, Mr. Pivot. Please to convey 
my regrets to your aunt that I am obliged to decline.” 

The young man stood, with flushed face and ominous 
frown, twisting his hat between his strong, sunburnt 
hands. 

He saw the triumph in his rival’s face and felt like 
strangling him where he stood smiling before him; but he 
made an effort to hide his disappointment and rage. 

“Then it’s to be ‘no ’ ?” he said, with an affectation of 
indifference. “ I guess my aunt and the others will be cut 
up a bit, but I shan’t feel it, for I’m going with the old 
man to Webster’s farm on that day, and won’t be back till 
all the fun’s over.” 

“Then what is the use of worrying over other people’s 
troubles when you won’t be there to share them?” Havi- 
land remarked, with an irritating laugh. 

Pivot’s bold eyes go to the speaker’s face with a menac- 
ing glance. 

“ Possibly I mightn’t either, if I hadn’t a kind of regard 
for my aunt, and I reckon I don’t care to see the old lady 
put out. But there, I’ve got my answer.” 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


151 

“ Best make up your mind to take your answer when 
you get it, Pivot; it is the most sensible thing you can 
do.” 

“I guess I’ve not asked your advice yet, Mr. Haviland. 
When I do it’ll be time enough to give it.” 

“ Perhaps you would not get it then.” 

“ I’ll get it when I want it, you bet.” 

Lotta rose hastily from the piano as her uncle joined 
them, and laying his hand on Luke Pivot’s arm he re- 
marked pleasantly: 

“You will say to the good uncle that I should like him 
to look over to-morrow and see the plan I told you of, will 
you not?” 

“Yes, we’ll come over to morrow, I take it,” Luke an- 
swered, the scowl disappearing. 

“You must taste our peaches before you go,” Mr. von 
Rosenberg added. He read the feelings of the two young 
men and dreaded seeing them quit the house together. 

“Thanks, I’ll not refuse. I hear you grow the finest 
peaches out here,” Luke responded eagerly. 

Herbert Haviland, recklessly bent on irritating his rival, 
followed Lotta. 

“Before I go let me give you this, in the hope that you 
will not refuse the request which it contains,” he said, in 
an audible whisper, as he slipped his mother’s note into 
her hand. 

“ I hope your mother has not also a bee on hand, Mr. 
Haviland ?” Lotta answered, in her clear, refined tones, 
turning the note in her hand, “as I am going to be very 
busy for the next fortnight.” 

Bertie laughed to hide his confusion. 

“ I will venture to assure you it is not a bee. Miss von 
Rosenberg,” he responded lightly. “My mother would 
not put your feelings to such a test.” 


152 Connor D' Arcy Struggles, 

After that little thrust at his rival, Bertie said good-by 
and was gone. 

Poor Bertie! 

An hour later, when Luke Pivot rode away from Fall 
Farm, he clinched his fist and muttered with a savage 
oath: 

“You’d better take care, Bertie Haviland; for if you 
come sparking around with your fine airs, thinking to win 
that girl from me, I’ll have your heart’s blood.” 


Chapter 


“ Our morals are corrupted and vitiated by our admiration 
of wealth.” — Cicero. 

“ How convenient it proves to be a rational animal who 
knows how to find or invent a plausible pretext for whatever it 
has an inclination to do.” — Franklin. 


“"“TE a success!” 

“Yes, decidedly the ball of the season! 
But the D’Arcys always do give the smartest 



‘society’ entertainments. I tell you, they’re haying a gay 
and giddy time.” 

“What superb emeralds and diamonds Miss D’Arcy 
wears to-night! Did you ever see anything to equal her 
parure2 By Jove! those gems are worth a fortune.” 

“Rather! Did you hear that she has refused Clement 
Russel ?” 

“ No, really ?’ 

“ A fact ! Clement’s awfully cut up about it, too. How 
hot it is! There’s no end of pretty girls on hand. Every- 
body’s here to-night — all the upper crust of New York.” 

“Yes, by Jove! It was difficult to get an invite. 
They’re kind of sassy, these D’Arcys, on the strength of 
having good blood and that kind of thing.” 

“Yes, and they’ve got the suet as well as the blood. 
D’Arcy’s been fortunate, I tell you. I hear he has bought 
out old Van Hoeton’s shares.” 

“That affair’s settled, then?” 

“Yes, and they’re sure to pay him. Everything turns 
to gold in Gerald D’Arcy’s hands.” 


154 


Con7ior D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


“ He had a hard fight for it, though. But that young 
fellow, his son, has splendid brains — just the sort of fellow 
to make a pile; no chance of shipwreck when he’s at the 
helm.” 

“That’s so — splendid young fellow! Did you seethe 
Southern heiress. Miss Vanstone ? I heard she was coming 
to-night.” 

“Lord, yes! D’Arcy opened the ball with her.” 

“The dickens! you don’t say so! Gerald D’Arcy of all 
men dancing! But perhaps it was young Connor?” 

“ Not a bit of it. It was the elder D’Arcy who opened 
the ball with Miss Garnet Vanstone, and quite young and 
handsome he looked. Oh, he’s having a dizzy old time of 
it, I tell you.” 

The speaker’s companion gave utterance to a prolonged 
whistle. Then both laughed. 

“By Jove! look there!” 

They were seated in a convenient corner, filled with 
flowering shrubs, from whence a good view of the dancers 
could be obtained. It was a brilliant scene — brilliant with 
the wealth and dite of New York society. Fragrant odors 
filled the atmosphere, mingling with the crash of music, 
the flash of jewels, the sheen of costly silks and satins, and 
the harmonious measure of the dancers’ flying feet. 

But the above ejaculation was called forth by the sight 
of Gerald D’Arcy, with a young lady on his arm, passing 
out of the ball-room. 

People called Garnet Vanstone beautiful, alid if a com- 
plexion of dazzling fairness, golden hair with ruddy tints, 
large amber eyes, nez relrouss/, a round, dimpled chin, and 
full, handsome figure which moved with a slow, indolent 
grace, would constitute beauty, then she was, indeed, 
beautiful. She was dressed in white silk and cloudy 
gauze ; white lilies and green grasses nestled in its shining 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 155 

folds; diamonds flashed on her round, white throat and 
arms and in her shapely ears. 

“The atmosphere of these rooms is oppressive,” Mr. 
D’Arcy said solicitously. “ If you do not fear the cold, 
I could find you a sheltered seat upon the piazza which 
commands a fine view of the river. The moon has risen 
and the effect is simply magical.” 

“Thanks. I should enjoy it very much,” Miss Van- 
stone returned in clear, languid tones, and having led her 
to a seat, Gerald D’Arcy hurried away to procure a wrap. 

Presently he returned, carrying a warm, wadded sortie 
debal in which he carefully wrapped her; then he drew her 
hand through his arm and led her out upon the piazza, 
whose floor was covered with rich Turkey rugs, and costly 
blooms added their fragrance to the witchery of the moon- 
lit night. Leading his fair partner to a wicker chair piled 
with Oriental cushions, Gerald D’Arcy placed one beneath 
her satin-shod feet, and, standing by her side, looked out 
across the river with its twinkling lights to the snow- 
capped heights beyond. 

The clear stars flashed brightly down on the woman’s 
face, looking out, so dangerously fair, from beneath the 
fur-lined hood, on the tall man by her side, on the brill- 
iantly lighted mansion, on snow-clad roofs and spires, and 
on the mammoth city, with its pulsing human life, its joys 
and suffering, its pleasures and pains, its wealth and pov- 
erty, its virtue and crime, flashing down from their purple 
background as calmly bright, as serenely cold, as if sin or 
sorrow were unknown, as if earthly joys were everlasting 
and human hearts never break; while from the ball-room 
out upon the frosty air came a crash of music and a breath 
of rich odors. 

And little more than three short years before Honoria 
D’Arcy lay dying in a London attic-room, dying of want. 


156 Connor D' Arcy' s Struggles. 

of privation, but most surely of all dying of a broken 
heart. 

Of what was Gerald D’Arcy thinking as he stood there 
under the moonlit heavens with that look of unrest on his 
usually d^bonnaire face and in his blue eyes so persistently 
turned from the face of his beautiful companion, who was 
gazing thoughtfully out upon the river? 

Was he thinking of sweet, gentle Honoria O’Connor, 
whom he had wooed and won on the banks of the Shannon, 
now sleeping the last long sleep so far away, or of the 
handsome sons and fair daughters she had bequeathed to 
him, a sacred trust, a living memory of her — of haughty, 
.reserved Connor who had served him so faithfully for the 
past three years; of quiet, studious Teddy in far-away 
Europe, in the quaint old Spanish city, perfecting his 
education; of bright, generous Denise; of beautiful Eve- 
line, with her clever, quaint sayings and odd mingling of 
childishness and worldliness — or was he weighing the step 
he was about to take and all the consequences likely to 
result therefrom ? 

Would he draw back before it was too late? 

Did he hesitate, dreading the answer which the beautiful 
Southern heiress might return to the words he had brought 
her there to hear ? 

Whatever his thoughts, they were presently put to flight 
by the languid voice of his companion. The sound of 
those sweet tones dispelled his waking dreams and ban- 
ished all indecision ; the moment that was his to draw back, 
if he contemplated so doing, had passed away forever. 

“ Oh, Mr. Brand, is it really you ?” cried a ringing 
voice in an ecstasy of delight, and from the midst of a 
wilderness of tall palm ferns and costly exotics rose a 
slender, girlish form in a white, cloudy dress, with a face 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 157 

fair as the fairest of the flowers by which she was sur- 
rounded. 

“What! not really my little friend Miss Eva, quite a 
grown-up young lady?” 

“ Yes, I am just myself, Mr. Brand. I do not think that 
any one would be so benighted as to desire an exchange of 
personalities. But where have you been all these ages 
and ages? It is over two years since you last called,” 
Eva responded, with the childish freedom of those by-gone 
days when Frank Brand was her special friend and favor- 
ite and when he was an almost daily visitor at this house, 
from which he had so long absented himself, to Eva’s 
intense astonishment. 

He advanced now with extended hands and genuine 
admiration in his honest eyes. 

“ Are you pleased to see me ?” he inquired eagerly. 
“ I fear you are nearly right about the time, but I must 
disagree with you upon that other point; for I am con- 
vinced there are many young ladies who would gladly 
exchange personalities with you, if such an exchange could 
be effected.” He was anxious to avoid further question- 
ing, but he should have remembered that Eva would not 
be turned aside. 

“ We will not discuss that point, if you please, Mr. 
Brand,” she said, frigidly drawing up her slender figure 
and looking away from the outstretched hand. 

“ I want to know why you have stayed away so long. 
Papa could not tell, Connor could not tell, and no one 
seemed to know.” 

It was impossible to evade Eva’s straightforward per- 
tinacity. 

A question so directly put must be answered in some 
way; and poor Frank, unused to subterfuge, flushed and 
stammered like a school-boy. 


158 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


How could he confess the truth ? 

How tell her that he had dreamed his dream and been 
rudely awakened — awakened to the humiliating knowledge 
that for him, at least, love had not conquered all” ? That 
he had laid his hand and heart at the feet of Kate D’Arcy, 
only to be rejected, not because she did not love him, but 
because she loved still better the Faith of Christ? 

“I respect and esteem you, Mr. Brand,” she had said, 
“ perhaps I do even more. But a barrier stronger than 
death separates us: that barrier is Faith! A union blessed 
by God must be a union in which husband and wife have 
but one Faith, one soul. Remove this barrier by becom- 
ing a Catholic; then ask me that question and I will an- 
swer you.” 

He had left her resolved to conquer his love and, if 
possible, never to look on her face again. 

He was thinking of that last interview as he stood there 
with Eva’s large, clear eyes seeming to look him through, 
and vainly striving to appear composed. 

“Don’t lay all the blame at my door. Miss Eva,” he 
pleaded very humbly. “ I called frequently, but unfortu- 
nately could never find any one at home. You have been 
having such gay times, I began to fear you had quite for- 
gotten old friends. But I must remind you that you have 
not yet said you are pleased to see me.” 

“ I think in order to punish you I should not say I am 
pleased to see you; but I am: still, it was not treating us 
like friends to stay away so long. You might have found 
us at home some time, you know,” she responded quaintly. 

Frank colored ever so slightly as he gallantly raised to 
his lips the little gloved hand so grudgingly laid in his. 

“If you only knew how awfully busy I have been,” he 
protested mendaciously, “ you would not be so severe, 
unless you desire to score me out of your friendship.” 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


159 


“ Oh, not I. But it is odd that you have never been to 
any of Aunt Kate’s parties until to-night. Now, I should 
not treat you so if I had been your friend.” 

He flushed guiltily at that allusion to Kate. 

” Then you are not my friend ?” he asked, to cover his 
confusion. “Your words make me feel very miserable 
and lonely.” 

“Yes, I am your friend, Mr. Brand, but I am not a 
gentleman, you know; and therein lies the difference.” 

Frank laughed his old pleasant laugh. 

“You certainly do not look like one; but if we are still 
friends I am well content. I suppose every one has been 
telling you how beautiful you are?” 

Had the last remark been uttered by any other than 
Frank Brand, Eva would have resented it as an imperti- 
nence, but from the* first she had looked upon him in the 
light of an elder brother and treated him much as she 
treated Connor; so instead of resenting his words she 
laughed a sweet, mocking laugh that almost took away 
his breath. 

It was so unlike Eva. 

“Oh, yes, ” she answered naively, “people are always 
giving me to understand that I am beautiful ; but if papa 
were not so rich they would not see that I am even pretty.” 

“ At least their flatteries have not spoiled you ?” 

“Why should they? Beauty, like riches, might take 
unto itself wings and fly away ; now, if my beauty should 
take a notion to fly away there would be nothing left. 
You see, I am not like Denise : she is both good and pretty, 
while I am mean and selfish and would not be poor again 
for all the world ; and if I were poor, apart from those 
who have always loved me I would not have one true 
friend on earth, and all those who now bow down before 
me would forget my very existence. Another and 


i6o Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

brighter star would rise in the fashionable firmament. It 
is like playing at ‘up cardinal, down king,’ you know,” 

To say that Frank Brand was surprised by her words 
would be to but faintly describe his feelings. He was 
shocked and inexpressibly pained by this startling cynicism 
in one so young and fair. It was usual for her to say the 
most unheard-of things in that pretty, quaint way of hers, 
but surely this was a new development. 

“ I hope you do not include me in the category of your 
summer friends?” he asked reproachfully. 

‘‘ I do not know. I used to think different, but of this 
I am convinced : the friends who bask in the sunshine of 
our prosperity are too often found wanting when weighed 
in the balance of our adversity. People are better to be 
poor, after all.” 

” My dear child, why do you talk in this strain ? 
Heaven forbid that you should ever have occasion to put 
me to the test, but if you should, I promise you shall find 
me the same true friend in adversity as in prosperity, in 
gloom as in sunshine.” 

He held out his hand to her, his blue eyes eloquent of 
sympathy. She looked so fair, so lovely, standing there 
against a background of ferns and flowers, surrounded by 
all the accessories of wealth, costly mirrors giving back 
the graceful white-robed figure, the perfect face, the slen- 
der, locked hands, the glittering hair looking in the softly 
subdued light like threads of palest gold. 

Of all the fair women who crowded that stately man- 
sion, this daughter of Gerald D’Arcy was by far the fairest. 

Frank noted with a feeling of apprehension that her 
clear eyes looked strangely dark and brilliant and her 
delicately tinted cheeks glowed like the heart of a crimson 
rose. 

“ What can have caused this change ?” he asked himself. 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


6i 


“ This is such an unusual state of mind for Eva. ” Then as 
she gave him her hand he asked abruptly : 

“ How is it I find you here alone ? I expected to see you 
among the dancers.” 

‘‘Oh, I was tired of dancing,” she answered, with a lit- 
tle feverish laugh. “ I wanted to get away from the crush 
and the glare, and we came here to rest. I sent my part- 
ner, Mr. Falconer, for an ice; he has been gone quite half 
an hour. I know it is very hard to get through the crush, 
but isn’t it an awfully long time to stay?” 

“ Let me get you an ice; I shall not be long.” 

“Thanks, no; I don’t care for it now. Have you seen 
Denise and Aunt Kate? Isn’t she just lovely?” 

Frank was very busy with the buttons of his gloves. 

“Do you mean your sister or Miss D’Arcy?” he in- 
quired, with a constrained little laugh. “ On which am I 
expected to pass judgment? I think they’re both ‘just 
lovely’ !” 

Before Eva could reply a gentleman entered the con- 
servatory, followed by a servant carrying refreshments. 

“ I fear you will never forgive me, I have kept you 
waiting so long. But I assure you it was not my fault. I 
had three different ices knocked out of my hands; then I 
went in search of some of the waiters and found Adam, 
who has been more fortunate than I,” Mr. Falconer said. 

She deigned no answer, and the man having placed the 
heavy silver salver on a small table disappeared. 

“ Surely you are not vexed with me for being away so 
long. Miss Eveline,” the young man entreated earnestly. 

“Vexed!” with a haughty lifting of the perfect eye- 
brows. “Oh, of course not, Mr. Falconer, but one might 
be excused for imagining you had gone in search of the 
proto-Adam. I do not care for the ices now. This gen- 
tleman is an old friend — let me introduce you.” 


II 


62 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles. 


“Mr. Falconer and I are acquainted, Miss Eva," Frank 
Brand said pleasantly; at the same time extending his 
hand to the young man, in whose evident distress he felt 
a generous sympathy. 

“Will you take me to Miss D’Arcy, Mr. Brand?" Eva 
said, laying her gloved hand on Frank’s arm. 

“ But our dance, you know ?" expostulated Mr. Falconer. 

“ I shall sit out this dance with Mr. Brand. I have not 
seen him for a very long time, and I want to tell him 
about Father Donnatti," she responded coolly. 

“ May I have the next?" he implored. 

She glanced indifferently at her carte de dafise. 

“Mr. Felix Rooney’s initials are down for the next," 
was the serenely indifferent answer as she moved away 
on Frank’s arm, leaving Paul Falconer standing there, 
pained and disappointed. 

If he could but have known it, his tardiness had had 
nothing whatever to do with Eva’s singular mood. She 
had sent him for the ices in order to be rid of him. She 
wanted to be alone, to think over the whispered comments 
which had reached her during the evening — comments 
which bad set her pulses throbbing and her heart aflame 
with a very storm of indignation. And in that half-hour 
of self-communing all that was mercenary, all that was 
selfish and worldly in Eva’s nature, the fruit of the seed 
sown by former poverty, burst forth strong and vigorous, 
to remain branded on her soul forever. 


Chapter 


“Yet she was pale, and sooth a tear 
Was trembling in her lucent eye, 

As though some thought to memory dear 
Was rising with a sigh.” 

“ A faithful friend is the elixir of life, and his counsels as gold 
to the indigent.” — Mrs. W. M. Bertholds. 

M ISS D’ARCY was surrounded by some of the most 
distinguished men of New York. She appeared to 
be deeply interested in the conversation of a 
white-haired senator who was relating an episode of the 
War of American Independence, but there was a look of 
haunting dread and anxiety in the handsome eyes that so 
frequently glanced down the crowded ball-room. 

Who in that brilliant assembly would imagine that once 
upon a time — a time not so far distant — this richly attired 
woman, clad in a rusty .shawl and faded gown, used to 
steal away to Father Brady’s poor chapel for an hour’s 
quiet prayer? Although no poverty of apparel could rob 
Kate D’Arcy of the “ Hall mark” of gentlewomen, yet, 
romance-writers notwithstanding, beauty adorned is beauty 
perfected. If a change had come to her in the last three 
years, to all appearance that change was for the better. 
Gerald D’Arcy had not forgotten her loving devotion to 
his wife and children during the years of his separation 
from them, and despite her remonstrance he had settled a 
handsome annuity upon her. The magnificent diamonds 
and emeralds she was wearing were his gift, as was the 

163 


164 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

jewelled fan which she raised to her swiftly paling face as 
her brother and Garnet Vanstone re-entered the ball-room. 

Her hands were cold and trembling, the senator’s voice 
sounded far away, the music strangely harsh, her brain 
reeled, and for one brief instant there was darkness, a 
sense of coming oblivion; then a sweet voice near her 
said : 

“ See, auntie, I have brought this truant to you, but 
please don’t be awfully severe upon him.” 

Eva’s voice and words instantly dispelled the faintness 
to which Kate had so nearly succumbed. 

She looked up with a wan smile and slightly dazed ex- 
pression, but at sight of Frank Brand a warm blush 
chased the pallor from her face. 

“ I should punish you, Mr. Brand, but for Eva’s ad- 
vocacy,” she said, giving him her hand. 

And Eva wondered what there was in her aunt’s words 
to make Frank Brand look so happy. 

The senator’s story ended at last, as all things will, and 
a crowd of young men gathered round Eva. Frank Brand 
had come to the ball at Gerald D’Arcy’s pressing invita- 
tion. He was angry at himself for yielding, and made up 
his mind to leave at the earliest opportunity; but as he 
stood behind Kate’s chair he forgot to carry out his 
resolve, forgot the determination he had formed at their 
last parting, and he still lingered. 

Suddenly he saw Connor, who had just entered the ball- 
room, and his heart glowed with a feeling of fraternal 
pride in his friend. 

“He is the handsomest man here to-night,” he thought 
proudly. “ He looks like a young prince. What can his 
father have been thinking of?” 

Kate’s heart seemed to stand still, then began to throb 
wildly, when she saw Connor approaching, and as he 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 165 

paused before her her eager eyes searched his face almost 
fearfully. 

But it was evident that Connor had not seen his father 
and was still blissfully ignorant of that which was an open 
secret to almost every man and woman present — that which 
was to alter the whole course of his life. 

“I have been looking for you all evening, Connor,” 
Kate said, tapping his arm with her fan. “ How are you 
so late ?” 

“ I had some business to attend to ; duty before pleasure, 
you know, dear,” was the smiling reply. 

A look of keen pain came into Kate’s eyes, but Connor 
was already talking to Frank Brand and failed to notice 
her agitation. 

To Frank Eva was an enigma. He watched her with 
ever-increasing wonder. 

How dazzlingly fair she was! 

The feverish unrest of look and tone which had so 
startled him while talking to her in the conservatory had 
vanished ; her lips and eyes were smiling, her brow serene 
and unclouded. 

“ She is so naive., so impulsive, so unsophisticated, a 
creature of variable moods,” he thought. 

A crowd of eager admirers surrounded her; Mr. Felix 
Rooney, to whom she was engaged for the next dance, 
hovering near, the most devoted of slaves. She permitted 
him to hold her bouquet while she talked, sometimes smil- 
ing behind her fan at his fatuous endeavors to appear 
witty, her unconscious victim often joining in the laugh 
against himself when she condescended to hold him up to 
the ridicule of those around him in that clever, charmingly 
fresh, and thoroughly childlike way of hers which most 
people found so irresistible. 

She had forgotten to tell Frank Brand about Father 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


1 66 

Donnatti’s late severe illness, and that the good Father 
was going to Europe in the spring to recruit his health, 
and would visit Salamanca and see Teddy in the old 
Spanish university. 

“Oh, I shall tell him to-morrow,” she thought as she 
floated away in the arms of Mr. Felix Rooney to the 
exquisite strains of Soldaten Lieder. 

“That dance is about to begin, Connor,” Kate said 
quickly, “ and you have not sought out a partner. Shall 
I find you one ?” 

Connor laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Oh, don’t trouble about me, dear,” he returned care- 
lessly. “ For the present I shall content myself with look- 
ing on. Have you any engagements, Brand ?” 

“None. Unless Miss D’Arcy takes pity on me I shall 
not dance to-night.” 

Kate blushed vividly in spite of herself. 

“Since you put it in that way, Mr. Brand, I shall be 
obliged to keep you a dance,” she said graciously, and 
held out her programme to him. 

Brand took the dainty satin-fringed card and glanced 
over it. Hastily scribbling his initials against two dances, 
he returned it with a bow. 

“It was good of you to oblige me!” he said as Kate’s 
partner came up to claim her for the dance that was just 
forming. 

She smiled, took her partner’s arm at once, and they 
swept away, leaving the two young men standing there, 
with more than one pair of bright eyes turned expectantly 
upon them. 

“Come!” Connor said hastily. “Let us get away from 
the crush and the glare of these crowded rooms. I must 
speak with you where we won’t be interrupted.” 

Brand nodded, and without another word they left the 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 167 

ball-room and passed through an anteroom into the lofty 
hall. Half way down Connor paused, and sweeping aside 
the rich portieres draping a velvet-hung arch, led the way 
into a small but elegantly furnished apartment where a 
number of wax-candles cast a mellow light on surrounding 
objects and a large fire burned in a low open grate. 

“ Have you spoken to Denise to-night. Brand ?” Connor 
inquired as he wheeled forward a luxurious easy-chair for 
his friend and leaned his elbow on the over-mantel. He 
had not overcome his dislike of the splendor by which he 
was surrounded ; it irritated and galled him ; the memory 
of his mother’s patient sufferings and death was never 
more vividly present with him than when, as now, he 
stood in his father’s palatial home. 

“Yes,” Frank responded, flinging himself into the chair 
and stretching his long limbs with an air of lazy enjoy- 
ment. “ I §poke to her for a few minutes between the 
dances. How pretty she is! But, I say, old man, is any- 
thing wrong?” 

“ I fear there is. I have had a letter from Teddy; the 
poor boy is not well — been overworking himself, no doubt. 
You know Teddy would not complain so long as he could 
holdout.” 

Frank nodded assent, an uneasy look coming into his 
eyes. He was wondering how Connor and Teddy would 
receive the announcement of their father’s engagement to 
Garnet Vanstone. 

“ He certainly would not,” he rejoined gravely. “ Some- 
how I have always fancied that Teddy is the kind of ma- 
terial out of which the early martyrs were made. But was 
it wise to send him so far away?” 

“ It was his wish and we did not like to oppose him. I 
shall speak to my father to-morrow, and he or I shall take 
the first steamer to Europe and bring Teddy home.” 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


1 68 

To-morrow! Even the wisest mortals are incapable of 
.foretelling what to-morrow may bring forth. 

“ That will be your best plan,” Frank said cheerfully. 
“ Teddy will be better beside you.” 

“That is just my opinion, and I will know no peace of 
mind until he is here. But as nothing can be done in the 
mean time, I have decided to refrain from mentioning the 
matter to any of the others until to-morrow. Now, I have 
brought you here. Brand, to have a long talk and to ask 
your advice.” 

“ If I can help or advise you in any way, old man, you 
have but to command me,” Frank said warmly. They 
talked long and earnestly, and when Brand returned to 
the ball-room and sought Kate’s side, he was barely in 
time to claim his dance. 

When the guests had all taken their departure and the 
last carriage had rolled away, Mr. D’Arcy approached his 
sister. 

“ I must congratulate you, Kate, on the success of your 
ball,” he said, with his gayest smile, but there was a touch 
of uneasiness in his manner not usual to him. “ You quite 
surpassed yourself. It was a most brilliant affair, I assure 
you ; and I must say, my dear, I never saw you look one- 
half so handsome,” he added gallantly. 

“ I am glad you are pleased, Gerald,” was all the answer 
Kate returned. 

“ Pleased ! I am delighted ! Everything went off splen- 
didly; there was not a single hitch from first to last,” he 
rejoined enthusiastically. “ I hope your duties as hostess 
have not too utterly exhausted you, for I am going to ask 
you to give me a few minutes before retiring. I have a 
communication to make.” 

It was coming, then, that which she most dreaded ! 

She was about to hear of his engagement to the Southern 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 169 

heiress, Garnet Vanstone. She shivered as if an icy blast 
had suddenly swept over her. 

“ Is this communication of such vital importance that 
you cannot wait a few hours?" she inquired wearily. 
She was very pale, but he did not see it. 

“To me., yes!" he returned coldly. 

She inclined her head proudly. “ I am ready,” she said, 
and followed him to his study, declining his proffered 
arm. 

He rolled forward a chair, placed a hassock under her 
feet, then he stretched himself comfortably in a low chair 
facing her and at once plunged into the subject uppermost 
in both minds. He was master in his own home — master 
of his own actions, she knew, and had a perfect right to 
please himself ; but had he not also a yet stronger right to 
consider his children ? He paused at length and awaited 
her reply. 

“You do not congratulate me, Kate," he said sharply, 
irritated by her silence. 

“ Congratulate ! Ah, Gerald I have you then so soon 
forgotten poor Honoria, your faithful wife, the mother of 
your children, who loved you even in death and whose 
last words were a blessing and a prayer for you ?" No pen 
could do justice to the reproach and pathos of tone and 
gesture which accompanied Kate D’Arcy’s words, but 
her brother felt all that words, tone, gesture conveyed. 
Hastily quitting his seat, he began to pace the richly 
carpeted floor, which gave back no sound to his quick, 
uneven steps. 

For several seconds the deep silence was broken only by 
the silvery chimes of the bronze clock on the writing-table 
announcing the fact that it was half-past four o’clock, 
after which silence once more reigned. 

Kate’s thoughts were with the past — that bitter past. 


Connor JD 'Arcy's Strugghs. 


170 

“What will Connor say? How will it all end?” she 
asked herself. “ Will it be war a outrance between father 
and son ?” 

A faint moan escaped her, and Mr. D’Arcy, turning 
abruptly, came to her side. 

“ Why will you torture yourself and me, my dear girl, 
over what is beyond recall ?” he cried passionately. “You 
know that I loved my poor Honoria with all my heart, 
that I still love her memory, and shall never cease to 
reproach myself for having caused her a moment’s suffer- 
ing. Look up, Kate, and listen to me. I have asked Gar- 
net Vanstone to be my wife; I have told her how I loved 
Honoria and she has accepted me. I know that men 
younger, richer, handsomer than I have wooed her in vain, 
and I feel sure that Honoria will not sleep less peacefully 
in her grave that there is still left a ray of happiness in 
this life for me.” 

She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. 

“ Suppose the case had been reversed, Gerald,” she said: 
“ how would you contemplate the possibility of Honoria 
placing another father over your children ?” 

He looked at her in speechless indignation for a mo- 
ment, then gave utterance to a short, impatient laugh, his 
face paling perceptibly. 

“ Such a question, and from you of all others!” he cried. 
“ You who knew Honoria so well know there could be no 
such possibility. Such an act would be utterly incompat- 
ible with her true and loyal nature. But why waste time 
on useless discussion ? It is not like you, Kate. Gan you 
not see that my honor is involved in this affair ? Besides, it 
is time you had some rest : you are utterly exhausted and 
there is something else I wish to say. Are you listening ?” 

She inclined her head coldly and he continued: 

“ I am happy to say that even before I expressed a wish 


Connor I?*Aroy*s Struggles. 


17 


to that effect, Garnet spoke of her desire to embrace our 
holy Faith. As she has not been influenced in her decision 
by any words of mine, I have all confidence in her becom- 
ing a good Catholic, and ” 

He was silenced by an imperious gesture of Kate’s 
white hand. She had risen hastily as the full meaning of 
his words became clear to her startled senses, and was 
standing before him proudly erect, the flash of her blue 
eyes outrivalling her costly jewels, which blazed and 
scintillated in dazzling splendor, her face flushed, her lips 
wreathed in a smile of ineffable scorn. 

Am I, then, in my senses? Can it be Gerald D’Arcy, 
the son of my father, to whom I have been listening while 
he proudly tells me that he has asked a woman — an alien 
to our holy Faith — to become his wife, to fill the place of 
Honoria D’Arcy and be a second mother to her children, 
not knowing, probably not caring, whether or not this 
woman would willingly be other than alien to the end, 
because, forsooth, she is beautiful ? I will not insult my 
father’s son by even a thought so degrading as that her 
wealth could influence him. Can adversity have so 
changed the brother of whom I was so proud that the 
Faith once so dear to him has become but a secondary 
consideration when it is likely to clash with the gratifica- 
tion of his wishes?” 


Chapter ^IDUIT. 


“ So dark a mind within me dwells, 

And I make myself such evil cheer, 

That if I be dear to some one else, 

Then some one else may have much to fear. 

But if I be dear to some one else. 

Then I should be to myself more dear." 

— Tennyson’s “ Maud !' 

F or an instant Gerald D’Arcy shrank before his sister’s 
flashing eyes and scorn-lit face ; it was so unexpected 
that he stood stunned, bewildered, self-convicted. 
The prize for which others contested — the prize most 
difficult to win had always appeared the most valuable in 
his estimation. It had pleased and flattered him to be 
first in the race for Garnet Vanstone’s favor. His was a 
kindly, if selfish, nature with warm and generous impulses. 

He had been disappointed in his children ; not but what 
each and every one of them yielded him the most un- 
questioning obedience and deference, but their affection 
for him lacked the warmth and spontaneity which his heart 
demanded. He never blamed himself, never imagined 
that his neglect and indifference were at the root of the evil 
of which he mentally complained. 

Garnet Vanstone’s beauty had enthralled, fascinated 
him; her conquest was a pleasurable excitement; but it 
would be difficult to say if his heart was really touched. 
Certain it is, the question of Faith had had no place in his 
rosy dreams of the future. 


172 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


173 


Kate’s words had hurt him cruelly, not the less so that 
he felt they were merited. But not even to her could he 
acknowledge his error. 

“On my honor, you wrong me, Kate,” he cried impul- 
sively, anxious before all things to stand well in the eyes 
of this his only sister, whose respect was very precious to 
him. 

“ I should not have made her my wife until she had, of 
her own free will, been received into the Church. Do not 
doubt me, I beg! But for Heaven’s sake, Kate, never 
again mention Honoria’s name to me if you wish to see 
me happy.” 

The pain and self-accusation in tone and look as he 
uttered that last sentence went straight to his sister’s 
impulsive heart, and all anger, all scorn died out of her 
face and voice. 

“ Heaven knows I do wish to see you happy,” she said 
gently. “ But oh, Gerald, my dear, could you not have 
found happiness in the midst of your children? What will 
they — what will Connor say ?” 

Her words were as a sword-thrust to her listener — they 
were the words which he most dreaded to hear. 

“ What will Connor say ?” Yet he resented them almost 
fiercely. 

“I have hitherto regarded myself as the master of my 
own actions, responsible to God alone, and possessed of 
the rights to exact obedience and respect from my family. 
Now” — with a short, sarcastic laugh — “ it appears that the 
order of things is reversed. I no longer govern, I am 
governed by my children. I must yield obedience to their 
wishes, must consult them on that which concerns my 
happiness alone ” 

“Ah, Gerald, how unjust you are!” 

But he went on heedless of her interruption: 


174 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

“ I have yet to learn by what authority a child is per- 
mitted to question the divine right of parents, or since 
when it has become the duty of a father to render an 
account of his actions to his children. The past is un- 
alterable; I shall abide by that which I would not change 
if I could. Have no fear that my children will again 
suffer from neglect of mine or from the step which I am 
about to take. I have provided for each so that no change 
of fortune can touch them. How long do you irhagine I 
could count upon having my children around me? You 
know how many good offers of marriage I have already 
had for the girls, and last night young Falconer begged 
me to use my influence with Eva in his behalf. He is not 
very rich, but I think he would make her a good husband; 
he is a fine young fellow and I like him better than any 
of her other suitors. Then there is Connor: with that face 
and figure of his, how long do you think he will remain 
unmarried? I confess he puzzles me, he appears so in- 
different to female attractions and prefers hard work to 
pleasure. 

“ But some day he will meet his fate; with so many fair 
women around him he cannot fail to do so. Teddy I 
hope to have with me for some years; but in any case my 
marriage will not make any change in the harmony of our 
relations; everything can goon as heretofore. This is 
Garnet’s wish as well as mine. I know you regard my 
fiancee with prejudiced eyes, but I feel confident that she 
will love my children if they will let her and be a true 
sister to you for your own sake ; and if you ever loved me, 
Kate, let this be the last you will say on this subject.” 

Deeply wounded, but too proud to resent his words, she 
bowed coldly. 

“ I should like to be the first to tell Connor,” she said. 

Her brother winced, although this was exactly what he 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 175 

most desired; yet making Connor’s feelings and opinion 
of such paramount importance irritated him. 

“ Certainly, if you so wish,” he returned graciously, con- 
trolling his rising anger. 

“ I want you to call on Garnet to-day, Kate, and I 
should like Denise to accompany you.” 

“ Do you think I would torture the child even to please 
you, Gerald?” she asked indignantly. “Denise is truth 
itself and could not act a lie to save her life. Will it be 
nothing to her, think you, to learn that a strange woman 
is about to take the place of the mother she loves in your 
heart and your home ? Let her have time to recover from 
the first effects of what will be to her a terrible shock be- 
fore you ask her to congratulate her mother’s rival.” 

Mr. D’Arcy bit his lip and flushed angrily. 

This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. 

“ I hope you don’t contemplate inciting Denise to rebel- 
lion ?” he interrogated coldly. 

“As if Denise would rebel!” she retorted scornfully. 
“Ah! Gerald, my brother! you neither understand nor 
appreciate the blessed gifts that God has bestowed upon 
you in your children!” 

He was silent, but the cloud on his brow deepened.- 

“We are straying from the point,” he observed pres- 
ently. “ 1 have asked you to call upon Garnet for her 
soul’s sake, if not in compliance with the rules of good 
breeding. I know you will not grudge the time spent in 
winning a soul to God, and you can initiate her in the doc- 
trines of our holy Faith, if you will, after which you can 
make her acquainted with Father Rylands. I feel sure 
she would have been charmed with Father Donnatti, he is 
so gentle, so forbearing, and Garnet has been a favorite 
of fortune from her birth, unaccustomed to contradiction 


or- 


f9 


176 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


“ If in taking this step Miss Vanstone is actuated by the 
love of God alone, she will listen with submission to the 
words of His priest,” Kate interrupted. 

“ You are severe. Remember, to those without the 
Church the entrance is not rose-strewn ; there are prejudices 
to overcome and humiliations to be borne in the conquest 
of self, and unquestioning obedience to spiritual guidance. 
You who have been born in the Faith cannot understand 
what such an ordeal will be to a girl like Garnet. I wish 
her to be thoroughly instructed before being received into 
the Church. I ask you, Kate, will you do this, not for my 
sake, but for the love of an immortal soul ?” 

“ If any effort of mine will benefit a soul I shall not 
shrink from the task, however difficult,” Kate answered 
calmly, and with her brother’s thanks sounding in her 
ears she quitted the room. 

It was Connor’s custom to breakfast early and start for 
the city before the family breakfast-hour; but on this par- 
ticular morning he was both surprised and disappointed on 
entering the breakfast-room to be informed by a servant 
that Mr. D’Arcy had already breakfasted and gone out. 

Connor had hoped to see his father alone, that he might 
tell him about Teddy without alarming his aunt or sisters. 

He ate his breakfast hastily and struggled into his 
furred great-coat, but even in his hurry he did not forget 
to Utter a pleasant “ Thanks!” to the footman who handed 
him his hat and gloves and held back the door for him to 
pass out. 

“ By the way, Casey,” he observed, pausing in the vesti- 
bule, “ will you say to Miss D’Arcy that I shall be detained 
in the city till a late hour?” 

“Yes, Mr. Connor,” the man answered, with a profound 
bow, and nodding a hasty good-morning, Connor dashed 
down the wide steps, out into the keen, crisp air of the 


Connor D' Arcf s Struggles. 


77 


early morning. No matter how great the storm, Connor 
always walked to the office ; when his father had expostu- 
lated with him, he had smilingly declared that the exercise 
braced his nerves for his day’s work. 

This morning as he hurried along his mind was occupied 
with thoughts of Teddy, ill and alone in a strange land, 
far from those who loved him ; and he wondered uneasily 
if his father would call at the office, as he sometimes did 
in the course of the forenoon. But he was doomed to dis- 
appointment; the forenoon and afternoon passed without 
bringing Mr. D’Arcy to the office. 

Immediately after breakfast, to Eva’s intense delight, 
Mr. Brand had come in his elegantly appointed sleigh to 
take them out for a ride; but Kate’s heart was crushed 
and sore since that interview with her brother, so pleading 
an engagement as an excuse for remaining at home, she 
committed her nieces to Frank’s care with many injunc- 
tions for their safety. 

The look of keen pain which darkened Frank’s clear, 
honest eyes when she declined to accompany them some- 
how soothed her vexed spirit. 

He had been so eager and smiling, declaring with almost 
boyish delight that the weather was delightful, the snow 
in beautiful condition, the horses quite safe and gentle, 
and for once Kate felt gratified when she saw the smile 
vanish and the light fade from his face at her refusal. 

From one of the windows of the morning-room she 
watched the trio while Frank carefully arranged the costly 
fur draperies around his two fair companions, and waved 
them a smiling adieu as the elegant equipage with its 
handsome horses glided swiftly from view, its silver bells 
making sweet music on the clear air; but although she had 
denied herself the pleasure of accompanying them, she re- 
tired to her room strangely comforted. 

12 


78 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


She had promised to call on Garnet Vanstone, and that 
promise must now be fulfilled; afterward she could tell 
Denise and Eva of their father’s engagement to the heiress. 

Ordering the carriage, she made the necessary changes 
in her dress and was soon being driven to Madison Avenue. 

An hour later, when the sleighing-party returned, their 
faces glowing with excitement and delight, they found 
Kate awaiting them in the drawing-room. 

“Oh, auntie, it was just heavenly!” Eva cried raptur- 
ously. But her ecstasies were short-lived. 

At that instant a message from Mr. D’Arcy requesting 
her presence in the study came upon Eva with the effects 
of a cold douche. 

She flushed, then paled, her eyes dilating with a sudden 
terror, and for a brief space seemed to falter. It was her 
last moment of indecision. A cold gleam shot into her 
eyes; a clear, metallic laugh that startled her hearers rip- 
pled over her lips as she started from her seat. 

Blowing a kiss from her finger-tips to the three who 
were regarding her with looks of pain and wonder, she 
swept to the door ; but as she reached it she paused and 
glanced back over her shoulder. 

revoir^'' she cried, with a reckless laugh. “When 
you see me again I shall have crossed the Rubicon and 
burned my boats behind me!” 

Then she was gone. 


Chapter 


“True nobleness doth those alone engage, 

Who doth add virtue to their heritage.” 

“ Each former feeling’s old control is from the spirit gone, 
And all the idols of the soul are gathered into one.” 

E va and her father were alone in the study. There 
was a silence between them which had lasted several 
minutes, during which time Eva had sat with her 
hands idly, gracefully folded, her glance bent on the rich 
carpet, and, strange to say, her thoughts travelling back 
to the past, that bitter, cheerless past which had filled 
her young heart with a shrinking horror of poverty. 

She had tasted the sweets of wealth, she had enjoyed 
the adulation, the luxury, the homage with which it had 
surrounded her; and as she now thought of that past a 
hard look — a look not good to see — stole into the beauti- 
ful, childlike face. 

Mr. D’Arcy sat opposite his fair daughter, his elbows 
resting on the writing-table, his face hidden in his hands. 

Suddenly he raised his head and regarded her search- 
ingly, a mixture of pain and disappointment in his glance. 

“ Eva, my dear child, ” he began. With a start she looked 
up and met his eyes. “ I find it exceedingly difficult to 
believe that a daughter of mine could voluntarily make 
such a choice as that which you have just announced to 
me. I cannot realize that you^ my Eva, have accepted 
Felix Rooney from among your many suitors. I had 

179 


i8o Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

hoped you would have preferred young Falconer, who is 
decidedly handsome and a gentleman. You are still very 
young, Eva — only nineteen; pause, my dear, and consider 
the matter well before you take such an irretrievable step. 
Marriage should not be lightly entered upon ; remember it 
is for time and eternity; its responsibilities cannot be 
evaded or cast aside as you would cast aside a dress or a 
jewel of which you had grown weary. Consult your own 
heart and try to realize all that it would mean to a girl of 
your birth and refinement to yield a life-long wifely obedi- 
ence to the son of such a man as old Barney Rooney, who 
began life as a collector of soap-fat and accumulated his 
vast wealth Heaven alone knows how!” 

It was as if he had suddenly dealt her a blow when that 
allusion to the source of Barney Rooney’s wealth passed 
his lips. 

She shrank back, lifting both hands with a swift move- 
ment to her face, over which the warm blood rushed in a 
crimson flood to the roots of her golden hair ; seeing which 
Gerald D’ Arcy, who hated giving pain and loved to “ sun 
him in the light of happy faces.,"' paused and waited for 
her to speak. 

Presently the white hands fell away from her face, and 
Eva looked up, a smile dawning in her eyes. 

“Mr. Rooney is the richest man in New York, papa,” 
she said sweetly. “ He owns millions and millions of 
dollars, and if I marry Felix, who will get it all, he has 
promised to settle twelve thousand a year pin-money on 
me. I am to have the finest horses and jewels in the city, 
and he will build the handsomest residence in the States 
for us. 

“ Felix recognizes the fact that he is wofully deficient 
in good-breeding, and you know, papa,” with a little mock- 
ing laugh, “ a man who is willing to confess himself outr^ 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles. i8i 

and exceedingly bad form is already more than half-way 
on the road to perfection. It is true that Nature has 
denied Mr. Felix Rooney the attributes of a Bayard, but 
when we have travelled a year in Europe the results will 
astonish you. Oh, you may depend he will emulate Ches- 
terfield, and return to the States a — gentleman!’' 

“Good heavens, Eva, a gentleman! Felix Rooney 
transformed into a gentleman ! No power of the alchemist 
could effect such a transmutation as that of changing such 
base metal into gold! But if your happiness is at stake, 
Eva, I shall say no more ; I desire, above all things, to see 
my children happy. If you really love this man well 
enough to become his wife, to endure all things cheerfully 
for his sake, as is the duty of a wife, and if he should 
meet with reverses to willingly share poverty and hard- 
ships with him; to ” 

She sprang to her feet, flinging out her white hands with 
a gesture of horror and repulsion, her voice ringing out 
clear and sharp. 

“No, no, no!” she cried, “I would not be poor again, 
for the love of the fairest Absalom on whom the sun of 
heaven ever shone! I should hate the man who brought 
me to that! I should die if I had to return again to the 
cold and hunger, the struggling for even a morsel of bread 
while others went without. I could not deny myself food 
that others might eat, as Denise and Aunt Kate have done 
times without number. I have endured hunger until my 
brain reeled and my senses seemed deserting me, yet I 
had more to eat than they.” 

Mr. D’Arcy listened like one suddenly smitten with 
dumbness — listened, drinking in every word. 

“I have been thankful, oh, so thankful! when Lottchen 
von Rosenberg has asked me to her rooms to sit with her, 
because of the warmth and comfort which I knew awaited 


i 82 


Connor D'Arcy'^ Struggles. 


me there, and because Lottchen would insist upon me din- 
ing or taking tea with her, as the hour might suit; but 
Denise would not join us, although there were times when 
she had tasted nothing, or next to nothing, all day. 

“ How I hated myself for the meanness which urged me 
to accept what I had not sufficient self-respect to refuse; 
but Lottchen did everything so sweetly, so graciously, ap- 
pearing to be the recipient of favors when in reality she 
was conferring them ; and the delicacies which she never 
failed to bring mamma could not have been refused by 
the proudest lady in the land. But I believe at this 
moment I should in any case have accepted her favors 
just the same. 

“ Do you think that after such an experience I would 
return to such a life for the love of any man? No, a 
thousand times! I feel that what I am saying will make 
me appear contemptible in your eyes, but remember, 
please, that I am not a saint, as dear, beautiful mamma 
was. I could not, knowing myself dying of a twofold 
starvation, bear the knowledge with smiling resignation 
and die blessing the cause of it. Neither am I of the 
material from which heroines are made, as is Denise, for 
though I should see all around me dying, I could not sing 
on the streets to procure them food and fuel, as she did 
for mamma and Teddy.” 

‘‘Oh, my God!” burst from Gerald D’Arcy’s white lips. 
They were the first words he had uttered — words wrung 
from his tortured heart. 

But blind to his agony, she went on passionately, reck- 
lessly, and told him all the miserable story. 

“ Denise never dreams that I know why she was so long 
absent that day,” she added. “It was not until Bella 
Norris came to pay Miss Carlyon’s bill that Denise told 
Aunt Kate what she had done. How auntie wept over 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


83 


her! They did not know that I heard every word, and 
never shall, for I could not endure to humiliate Denise by 
so much as a word. 

“ Ah, papa, you are astonished that I, your daughter, 
should of my own free and unbiased will accept Felix 
Rooney; but while those trials have only served to de- 
velop all that was good and perfect in Aunt Kate and 
Denise, they have brought to the surface all that is mean 
and despicable in my nature. 

“ Though I may despise myself, I can no more change 
my nature than the leopard his spots. I know myself to 
be ease-loving and utterly selfish — not a very exalted 
character, you will admit ; my only real estate my beauty, 
but the man whom I have chosen does not look beyond 
that. I could endure anything but a return to poverty and 
privation; even the offensive ignorance of Mr. Felix Roo- 
ney or the sordid coarseness of his father. 

“ I shall not marry any man who is not willing to settle 
upon me a sum sufficient to secure me against all future 
contingencies. Felix is willing to do this, therefore I 
have consented, with your approval, to become his wife. 
He will be possessed of more wealth than any other man 
in New York. I have beauty, birth, and grace — I think 
you will admit that the advantages are about equal. He 
cannot despise me for the lack of virtues to which he is 
himself a stranger; and I shall be happy.” 

She stood before her father a picture of rare girlish 
beauty, so fair, so ethereal as to seem scarcely a creature 
of earth ; her blue eyes black and glowing with intense self- 
scorn, yet never for an instant wavering in her resolution. 

There was an unyielding will beneath that fair exterior — 
how unyielding Gerald D’Arcy never dreamed, or that the 
rumor of his engagement to Garnet Vanstone had precipi- 
tated her acceptance of Felix Rooney. 


184 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


“No strange woman shall reign over me in my father’s 
house,” she had thought, while jealously watching her 
father’s very marked devotion to the heiress; and that 
thought had decided her. 

Love was an unknown quantity in Eva’s calculations; 
she would marry the richest man in New York, and such 
Felix Rooney would one day be. 

After that one exclamation wrung from the depths of 
his agonized soul, Mr. D’Arcy uttered no word, but sat 
there white and still, his haggard eyes fixed on Eva’s face. 
But when her voice no longer sounded in his ears, the fixed 
look left his eyes and he flung out his arms with a gesture 
of despair. 

“Ah! merciful Heaven!” he cried passionately. “What 
a heartless wretch I must have appeared to my beloved 
ones, leaving them to suffer like that! No wonder, though, 
my children should hate me!” 

“ Oh, papa, dear, you wrong us, indeed, indeed you do, 
by such a suspicion. We are all convinced that you were 
blameless. Mamma and Aunt Kate said so all the time. 
How could you know that auntie had lost her money? I 
should not have told you about these things, which are all 
past and beyond recall, but, oh, papa, you cannot conceive 
what a miserable coward I become when I look back upon 
that past. Say you forgive me, papa, darling, for having 
pained you so cruelly in my selfishness.” 

Frightened at sight of her father’s strong emotion, Eva 
had flung herself at his feet, clasping his knees in an agony 
of remorse, her beautiful eyes softened and brimful of tears. 

Gerald D’Arcy looked down on the lovely upturned face, 
so childlike, so full of pleading, and the despair in his 
own gave place to regretful tenderness. 

He raised her gently and placed her in a chair. 

“ Forgive you, child ?” he said sadly. “ What have I to 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


185 


forgive ? Am I to forgive you for telling me the simple 
though most bitter truth, all of which I should have been 
told when first we met ? It was a mistaken kindness to 
spare me. I am no tyrant, child. I know now that in my 
short-sightedness I have been all to blame. 

“ You have made many things clear to me. I can now 
understand the cause of Connor’s coldness — I had almost 
said dislike of me. Had I been told all this at first, how 
different our future might have been! But regrets are 
worse than useless now. ” 

Rising hastily, Eva crossed over to her father, and 
kneeling by his chair, rested her clasped hands upon his 
knees. 

“I have been very wicked, papa,” she said simply, 
“ and I want to kneel here, that I may feel sure you have 
forgiven me. Do not send me away, please. Now, papa, 
I cannot let you misapprehend Connor; he is all that is 
good and noble and generous, and I want you to believe 
that we all love you very, very dearly, indeed.” 

“And yet, my poor little Eva,” he rejoined, tenderly 
smoothing her shining hair with his shapely hand, “you 
have no faith in my affection for you.” 

“Oh, papa!” 

“Hush, my dear! In the past I unfortunately gave my 
children cause to doubt me; but, thank Heaven, I was not 
wholly to blame, nor have I neglected their future. Trust 
me, Eva; your dowry will be worthy the daughter of an 
English peer; do not, then, I beg of you, wreck all your 
future by making a mercenary marriage, from which all 
your finer instincts must recoil. I would rather see you 
the wife of a poor man of good family and respectable 
antecedents, though I had to give him a helping hand to 
fortune, than give you to this man if he could place you on 
a throne.” 


86 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


Eva bent her golden head and kissed the hand that 
rested on her own. 

“ I know you are the dearest and best of papas, and that 
in all you have said you have been actuated by a desire for 
my happiness alone; but indeed, papa, darling, I should 
be much happier with Felix than with — with any one else, 
and I have promised him, you know. Say ‘Yes,’ papa.” 

It was hard to resist those pleading eyes, but heart and 
soul recoiled from calling Felix Rooney son; and Gerald 
D’Arcy wondered, almost savagely, from whom his beau- 
tiful, graceful daughter could have inherited such a per- 
verted taste. 

How was he to inflict such a brother on his other chil- 
dren? and stately Garnet Vanstone, how would she regard 
the prospect of such a son-in-law ? 

Eva silently watched her father’s face and read there 
the struggle waging in his breast. 

“ If you are convinced that this marriage alone will give 
you happiness,” he said at length, “ I love you too well to 
make you miserable. Let it be ‘Yes,’ then, Eveline, but I 
must express my regret that your choice should have fallen 
on one whose only claim to consideration — nay, even to 
toleration — is his wealth. You are so utterly unlike the 
man that I cannot believe my senses, but you have my con- 
sent and blessing, Eveline. God grant you may never 
repent of your singular choice.” 

“ I have promised him my answer to-morrow at twelve 
o’clock.” 

Eva rose quietly and kissed her father’s cheek. 

“ Thank you, papa, you have made me very happy,” she 
said, in strangely subdued tones. 

“ I want you to promise me something, please. It is 
that you will never repeat to any one what I have told you 
about — about, you know, dear, about Denise singing ” 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


187 


He interrupted her with a gesture of infinite pain. 

“Ah, no, “ he cried bitterly, “do not fear; my poor, 
brave Denise has been sufficiently humbled!” 

She caught both his hands in hers and kissed them 
passionately. 

“You are too good to me, papa,” she said, her voice 
choked with emotion. “ Heaven knows I am not worthy 
to be her sister or your daughter!” 

Then she turned and passed from the room. 

She had crossed the Rubicon and burned her boats behind 
her. 

When the closed door shut her form from his sight, 
Gerald D’Arcy dropped his face upon his folded arms and 
wept bitter tears — such tears as only a strong man weeps 
in his agony of grief and repentance. 

Eva had indeed made many things clear to him. 

He knew now why Connor had so firmly refused to 
accept more than the salary of a manager, and yet no 
manager ever before worked for an employer as Connor 
worked for his father, who had with a feeling of resentful 
pride accepted his son’s decision — Connor could not forget 
his mother’s sufferings; and somehow the knowledge made 
Mr. D’Arcy’s heart glow with an added pride in his first- 
born and a yearning desire to win his affection. 

The memory of all that had# been said that afternoon 
while crossing the river at Beechville came back to him 
now. He recalled Clifford’s strictures on the girl he had 
heard sing in front of the Albany, and Kate’s loyal 
defence; and for the first time he understood why Denise 
had rejected Marmaduke Clifford, the man whom above 
all others he would have been proud to call son. 

Kate found it the most difficult and bitter task she had 
ever undertaken to acquaint Connor with his father’s en- 
gagement to Miss Vanstone. 


i88 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


In what words she told him, she could never afterward 
remember. But so long as life should last she would 
never forget Connor’s blank, incredulous horror, or the 
storm of wrathful indignation that swept over his face, 
until she literally cowered away before his blazing eyes. 

And oh, the scathing scorn in the few words he uttered 
— few, but they held in them the very bitterness of death. 
In vain she wept, in vain she implored. He stood before 
her cold, stern, immovable, the handsome mouth curved in 
haughty disdain, the handsome eyes looking like flames in 
the pallid face. 

When he left her, Kate fell upon her knees and wept 
out her anguish in a very abandonment of despair. She 
was still kneeling there when a low tap sounded on the 
door, and Denise asked softly: 

“ Please, auntie, may I come in ?” 

The door was softly opened, the silken portiere swept 
aside, and Denise with pale, troubled face entered. 

“ Is Connor very angry, auntie ?” she faltered. 

“ Ah, hush, my dear, hush ! he is going away. The 
steamer sails to-day, and he is going to — to Teddy,” Kate 
responded, striving to speak calmly but breaking down 
utterly. Denise waited to hear no more. One wild look 
she cast on the weeping woman, then dashed from her 
presence out along the corridor, pausing only when she 
reached Connor’s door, upon which she knocked for 
admittance. 

But when she looked upon his pale, set face and flash- 
ing eyes she realized with a sinking heart that she was 
powerless to dissuade him from his purpose. 

“ I will ask papa to let me go with you to Teddy, Con- 
nor, dear,” she urged passionately when all her pleading 
had failed, but the tone in which he answered, “ No, you 
shall not!” silenced her entreaties. 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


89 


In his stern face she read only too clearly his fixed pur- 
pose. He was about to bid an eternal farewell to that 
house and to the father whose last act of folly' had cost 
him his son’s respect. 

It was later than usual when Mr. D’Arcy awoke next 
morning. He had attended a meeting on the previous 
evening, at which he had been detained till a late hour, 
and had had no opportunity of seeing any member of the 
family when he returned home. He was resolved to seek 
an interview with Connor, and if possible break down the 
barriers of coldness and formality which had grown up 
between them. 

He was not a man to borrow trouble or to sup on dire 
forebodings; but, despite his naturally easy-going dis- 
position, a thought would occasionally obtrude itself, like 
a spectre at a feast — a thought what Connor would feel 
and say when he should hear that he was about to contract 
a second marriage; and at such times his heart would con- 
tract with a feeling of positive dread. 

He awoke languid and out of sorts, and glanced around 
the room. On a table near the bed was a silver salver, 
on which lay a letter and small parcel neatly sealed at 
both ends. 

He reached out his hand toward the letter, then drew it 
back with a strange sense of fear upon him and rang a 
hasty summons. 

“ What is this, Adam ?” he asked as his man entered 
the room. “ Did you give my message to Mr. Con- 
nor ?” 

“Mr. Connor sailed for Europe yesterday, sir; but he 
left that letter and packet for you.” 

Before the man had finished speaking Mr. D’Arcy had 
sprung out of bed and seized his dressing-gown. Some- 
thing had gone wrong, he knew ; but what that something 


190 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 

was he did not at first comprehend. He turned to Adam 
with a gesture of dismissal. 

“That will do. You can go and get my bath ready. 
I shall ring when I want you.” 

As soon as the man disappeared Mr. D’Arcy seized the 
letter, his hand trembling, a terrible misgiving filling his 
heart as he tore it open, scarcely noticing an inclosure 
which fell to the floor. 

There were only a few sentences written on the thick, 
creamy paper, and these were faultlessly, coldly respectful. 

Connor had resigned his post of manager, and hoped 
that his vacant place would soon be filled by a competent 
person. He had left everything in good working order ; 
all papers, bills, receipts, and contracts for the working of 
silver and other mines, together with a considerable sum 
of money, just received, were locked away in the large 
iron safe in the inner office; the key of the safe would 
accompany this letter. 

He was going to Teddy, whose last letter to himself he 
begged leave to inclose. 

Not a hint that he had heard of his father’s approaching 
marriage, but what need was there for words ? It was not 
in Connor’s nature to descend to reproaches. But the 
coldly ceremonious tone of that brief epistle told all too 
plainly that the iron had entered into the writer’s soul, 
as Mr. D’Arcy fully realized with a yearning tenderness 
for his first-born and a keen sense of irreparable loss. 
Pale to the lips, he picked up Teddy’s letter and read it 
slowly — a long letter this, full of brotherly love, mingled 
with a tender reverence for his elder brother and a touch- 
ing dependence on his counsel and advice. 

With a profound sigh, Gerald D’Arcy returned both 
letters to the envelope, which he locked away in his desk. 

“I must not lose the trust and love of my children,” he 


Connor D 'A fry's Struggles. 


19 


cried passionately, “ and, Connor, my boy, if I cannot 
have your affection, neither can I afford to forfeit your 
respect. You have left me meaning never to return; but 
first you have gone to Teddy, and I shall follow in the 
next steamer. 

“ I can trust Brand to look after my affairs while I am 
absent ; he would do more than that for Kate’s brother. 

“ I will have time to settle everything and see Garnet 
before the next steamer sails.” 


Chapter 


“ Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 

In the old likeness that I knew. 

I’d be so gentle and loving, Douglas, 

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true." 

“T THINK the translation runs, ‘The Cross is a shield 
I in all danger, a consolation in all sorrow, and the 
brilliant lighthouse which in the night guides us 
toward the eternal splendor. ’ 

“ To me you have been the lighthouse which pointed 
out the way to eternal happiness. Why will you not let 
us tread the path of life together? You have ignited the 
sacred spark of Faith in my darkened soul ; do not deny a 
little ray of hope to my hungering heart." 

On a path at the base of a hill two persons were 
standing — one a girl, slender, graceful, high-bred in tone 
and gesture; a girl whom one would not expect to meet 
in this western wild, and meeting would pause to wonder 
what chance had brought one so fair so far from the 
boundary line of “ good society." 

That she was not American one could see at a glance; 
that she was English one might also guess, but English 
with that indefinable grace and tone which only foreign 
travel and mixing in foreign society could impart. 

The other was a young man, decidedly good-looking, 
tall, with good breadth of shoulder and depth of chest; 
his supple, shapely limbs showed to advantage in his tight- 
fitting riding-suit; in his left hand he held a soft felt, 

192 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


193 


broad-brimmed hat, his right hand was extended toward 
the girl in humble entreaty. 

At a little distance a splendid chestnut cropped serenely 
the rank herbage skirting the road on one side, feeding 
while he waited for his master to remount him. 

On the ground at the young man’s feet lay a silver- 
mounted riding-whip. 

They were surrounded by the glowing glories of Oc- 
tober, whose soft light fell around them, whose health- 
giving breath wafted sweet odors to where they stood. 

The sides of the rocks were hidden from view by long 
drooping branches of hemlock, woven into fantastic gar- 
lands by Nature’s cunning hands; far up to the summit of 
the hill the stately pines rose in solemn grandeur, while 
here and there luxuriant evergreens peeped forth. 

They made a striking picture standing there, the bright 
sunlight falling upon them : the tall, stalwart young man, 
eager, ardent, imploring; the girl in a gown of pale blue 
cashmere and satin of the same hue, a soft, white, fleecy 
scarf fastened with careless grace round the slender neck 
and secured on the left shoulder by a large gold cross of 
Celtic design; a wide-brimmed hat covered the graceful 
head and shaded the ivory-white face; the clear eyes, filled 
with pain, were gazing away beyond her companion as she 
swung a basket which she carried a little impatiently to 
and fro. Above the clear blue sky, behind the tall pine- 
topped hill with its glowing drapery of rich vegetation 
forming a fitting background. 

At his last words she turned her eyes upon him. 

“ You pain me exceedingly by speaking in this way, Mr. 
Haviland,” she said, a faint soup^on of anger in the clear, 
refined tones. “ I think it is very unkind of you to per- 
secute me and torture yourself needlessly. You promised 
me never to allude to this subject again. As a friend I 
13 


194 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


like you very much indeed, but I can never like you in the 
way you want me to.” 

“ Then you have a lover more fortunate than I ?” he 
asked, in a tone of hopeless despair. 

“A lover! I have never had a lover in my life,” she 
answered, looking clearly and frankly into his troubled 
face. 

He raised his head proudly and threw back his shoul- 
ders as if freeing himself from a heavy burden. 

“ Then, Heaven helping me, I shall not despair. I know 
that I need not fear Luke Pivot, for with all his love for 
you he cannot win you. There, do not fear that I shall 
persecute you, as you call it; but with an open field I 
shall win you yet. I will strive to deserve you, and wait 
so patiently, thankful for the precious gift of your love, 
however long I may be in winning it, and you know, 

‘ Qui patitur vincit. ’ ” 

“ I regret to hear you speak like this, Mr. Haviland. I 
should like to spare you all unnecessary pain. Try to 
believe me when I assure you that though you may ‘be- 
willing to endure, yet you cannot conquer in this particular 
instance ; for when, after an acquaintance of three years, I 
can regard you only as a friend, my feelings for you will 
never grow warmer. Then do not further torture yourself 
by following an ignis fatuus that can lead to nothing but 
disappointment. I suppose you know the saying of the 
ancients, ^ Ex nihilo nihil fit.' ” 

He threw out his strong, shapely hands with an implor- 
ing gesture. 

“One moment! Do not leave me like this. See! I 
shall not stop you against your will ; but only grant me 
another instant.” 

Moved by his tone and gesture, she paused in the act of 
leaving him. 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


195 


“I think it is unkind of you, Mr. Haviland,” she said, a 
little less scornfully, “ to desire to prolong this interview. 
Apart from this subject, I will have much pleasure in list- 
ening to anything you may have to say, but ” 

“ I do not dispute the wisdom of the ancients,” he inter- 
rupted with passionate vehemence. “ Nor do I expect that 
out of nothing! could possibly ^yXxdiOX something hwt you 3.rQ 
not that invisible nothing — you are all the world to me, 
you are the sun that lights my days, your displeasure the 
cloud that darkens them ; you have a heart and I mean to 
win it — stay ! you are going to listen, and I shall speak only 
this once ; try to be patient, and I swear that I will never 
speak to you again like this. I loved you the first moment 
I met you in New York. When you came to your uncle’s 
home I tried to win a return of my love from you, but I saw 
you were indifferent. I endeavored to discover some means 
of pleasing you, ior your sake — not for my soul’s. Heaven 
help me! I began to study the Faith you love; I thought 
that by embracing it I should be a step nearer to you — • 
I see you are displeased, but, before Heaven! this is how I 
first came to take an interest in it, for your sake alone!' 
Thinking to please you, to win a place in your heart, I 
began thus; now I have finished by believing in it, loving 
it with all my soul — loving it for its truth and beauty. 
In a few days Father Burke will receive me into the 
Church, and I owe it all to you ; it was my love for you 
which turned my soul to God ! You were my beacon-light, 
your hand pointed the way, although unconsciously. Do 
not cast me into despair: give me some hope that one day 
I may win you. I would lay down my life for you, 
Lottchen — don’t be angry with me for calling you by that 
name; only this once let me call you Lottchen, and I will 
never presume to do so again until you give me the right — 
no, do not say you will never do that. I call Heaven to 


196 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


witness that if the laying down of my life would save you 
from harm I should yield it up gladly.” 

She would have been less than woman had she remained 
unmoved by the force of his great love for her; but deep 
down in her heart Lotta felt that she did not and never 
would reciprocate his love. Very gently but very firmly 
she told him this, leaving him no room to hope that she 
would change. Then she spoke to him of that other 
greater and more perfect love. 

“ Let me tell you how delighted I am to know that you 
are about to enter the Church,” she said, giving him her 
hand, a radiant smile lighting up her beautiful face. 
“ God grant that the thorny path which you have chosen 
may blossom into the flowers of eternal life for you.” 

“ Thanks; you are pleased, then?” he asked, holding her 
hand and looking down into her smiling face, a great joy 
lighting up his own. 

“From my soul,” she answered, withdrawing her hand 
from his clasp, “and the angels, in heaven are pleased 
also.” 

' “Ah, yes, I know,” he responded, a shade of sadness 
chasing away the smile. 

“But,” Lotta asked, suddenly remembering, “what do 
your parents say about your change of Faith ?” 

He laughed a short mocking laugh. 

“ Change of Faith? I never knew the meaning of the 
word faith before; true, I had unbounded faith in myself, 
but I did not trouble about religion in the past. As to my 
parents, the old man thought I was mad and told me so, 
called me a fool, and a few very polite epithets; my 
mother and the girls were horribly shocked, but they knew 
that there was no use talking to me.” 

“ Do not lay aside your crown because the thorns may 
pierce your flesh ; only by sufferings patiently borne can 


Con 7 ior D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 197 

we hope to gain the eternal splendor,” she said encourag- 
ingly. 

“ I must go now. I have been gone so much longer than 
usual, and uncle will be uneasy. I think my trusty squire 
Dan has forgotten me.” 

“ Let me see you home,” he said eagerly, 

“ Thanks, Mr. Haviland, but I will take the wood road ; 
it is the shortest way home. Good-by — a pleasant ride 
home.” 

“If I could hear you call me Bertie just once?” he said 
imploringly, as for one moment he held her hand in a firm 
clasp. 

She looked at him with a flash of indignant surprise. 

“ It is useless to hope for that,” she said coldly. 

He released her hand in silence, and she turned from 
him with hasty steps into a rough, narrow wood road. As 
she entered beneath the shade of the trees, she turned and 
glanced to where she had left him; she could not under- 
stand what had impelled her to do so. 

He was standing gazing after her, his right hand thrust 
into his breast ; his left hand, still holding his hat, drooped 
listlessly by his side, the sun glinting down upon his un- 
covered head. 

She saw him standing there in the pride of his strong 
young manhood, saw him as she would see him till the last 
hour of her life, and as she would never see Bertie Havi- 
land again in this world. 

With a feeling of pity for the man she had just left, 
mingling with a strange foreboding of coming evil, she 
pursued her way, picking her steps carefully over the un- 
even road. 

“ I wish he would try to be content with my friendship,” 
she thought, with an impatient sigh. “ He has always 
been so kind and attentive that I have come to like him 


198 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


almost as well as I should have liked a brother. I am so 
sorry that I dared not speak more kindly to him just now; 
he is the only friend I have had since coming here, and 
now I must see him as seldom as possible. What is the 
meaning of this strange foreboding ? Possibly the effect 
of coming from the sunlight into this gloom. I wish I had 
taken the open road ; I shall never come this way again 

As she advanced the gloom became deeper, and she 
wished that she had not left Oscar at home. 

Suddenly she paused with a startled look in the wide- 
open eyes and listened attentively; then she laughed at 
her own fears and continued on her way. 

“What a coward I am to-day!” she thought, trying to 
reassure herself; “it is some of the men from the village 
shooting down a wild turkey.” 

But notwithstanding this assurance, she hesitated more 
than once before she reached a clearing, where, gleaming 
whitely in the sunshine, she could see the road which 
skirted the wood, and the sight brought a feeling of relief 
to her. She would soon be home now. But here she again 
came to an abrupt pause, fully convinced that what she 
had been striving to persuade herself was but the result of 
her foolish terror was really some one rushing after her 
along the road she had just come, calling upoivher to stop. 

She could not recognize the voice of her pursuer, but 
she stood like one spellbound, unable to move. 

She knew that it was*a man who was dashing along at 
that headlong pace, but all power of motion seemed gone 
from her limbs, until she recognized Dan’s figure and 
knew that it was Dan’s voice, hoarse with terror and 
shouting, which cried out as he came full into view : 

“ Stop, Miss von Rosenberg, darling, for the love of the 
Holy Mother. Come back — you’re wanted.” 

“ What is the matter, Dan ?” she asked in a tone of cold 


Connor D'Arcy’s Struggles, 


199 


displeasure, regarding him with indignant surprise. “ Why 
do you come crashing and shouting after me in this way 
when you did not come to me in proper time?” 

From her first coming to reside on the farm, Dan had 
never failed in obedience and respect to his young mistress. 
He was her veritable slave; she was to him a beautiful 
young princess whom it was his pride to obey he followed 
her about like a great Newfoundland dog, made happy by 
a word of commendation and miserable by a word of 
reproof. 

But on this occasion, to Lotta’s surprise, he returned no 
answer to her indignant inquiry. Without a word of 
apology he stretched out his hand to take her basket. 

“Ah, now, ma’am, for the love of Heaven don’t wait 
here a minute longer,” he said in a tone of humble but 
earnest expostulation, “but comeback. Shure, young Mr. 
Haviland is lying shot dead through the heart where ye 
left him.” 

“Merciful Heaven!” burst from Lotta’s white lips, and 
flinging her basket from her she dashed past Dan, who 
followed quickly in her steps, and rushed on unheeding 
the roughness of the way, thinking only — 

“ Dead ! dead ! and I have spoken such hard, cruel 
words to him. Ah, Blessed Mother, pray for him! Pray 
that I may be yet in time.” 

She stopped short, almost dashing Dan to the earth as 
they came in sudden collision. 

“ Have you been to the village, Dan ?” she asked. 

“ I have indeed, ma’am; I went be the road and missed 
ye.” 

“Was Father Burke still there when you came away?” 

“He was, ma’am, but he was jist cornin’ away to see 
ould Pat Murphy.” 

“Go at once and bring him to me! Tell him what has 


200 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


happened, and as you hope for mercy in your last hour do 
not delay a moment.” 

Dan thrust his hat on his head, his big eyes opening 
wide in surprise. 

“ Niver fear, ma’am, I’ll run every fut of the way,” he 
answered readily, and had darted off before he had finished 
speaking. 

She followed, never pausing for breath. 

On, on until she was out from the gloom of the wood, 
out into the sunshine, out on to the white road, her eyes 
strained toward the spot where she had last seen Bertie 
standing gazing after her. He was no longer there, but 
close to a group of men stood his horse, drooping and 
dejected. 

Everything was blurred and indistinct — she could only 
see the still figure over which they so anxiously bent. 

As she sank on the ground beside them she grasped the 
arm of one of the men and tried to speak. He read the 
unspoken question in the imploring eyes. 

“No, thank Heaven! he is not dead, my dear child!” 
he answered gently ; “ there is still life. I have sent for 
Dr. Edwards, but I fear he is away at Pine Gully ; I met 
him going there this morning.” 

She did not know that the low-spoken words were uttered 
by Father Burke, or that it was his face into which she 
had just looked. She only knew that Bertie Haviland was 
not dead, and she bent her face in her hands and murmured 
a heartfelt thanksgiving and a prayer that he might be 
spared. 

Some one touched her on the arm, and looking up she 
met Father Burke’s glance of pitiful sympathy, and for the 
first time became aware of his presence. 

“ His eyes are open now. Will you see if he recognizes 
you ?” he said. 


Co7inor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


201 


She nodded silently, and bending over the prostrate 
form looked into the dull eyes, watching with suspended 
breath for some sign of recognition, but in vain! 

“ Bertie, don’t you know me? It is I — Lotta.” 

She spoke the words softly, but they sounded clear and 
distinct on the still air. 

An instant of breathless waiting followed. 

Gradually consciousness dawned in the dull eyes, slowly 
they turned toward her, a faint smile creeping into them 
and around the white lips, which moved without making 
any sound. 

“ Oh, if we had some wine, some brandy — anything — 
anything to revive him,” she said desperately. 

“ Here is some water, ma’am,” Dan said, coming to her 
side a little shyly, carrying his hat, filled with clear water, 
between his hands. 

It was no time to be fastidious. 

She dipped her handkerchief into it and touched Bertie’s 
lips and forehead with the cool water. He looked at her 
gratefully, and seeing that he wished to speak, she bent 
her ear to his lips. 

“It has come sooner than I thought, Lottchen,” he 
gasped painfully. 

His words pierced her heart cruelly. 

“You must not talk,” she said, gently smoothing the 
damp hair from his forehead. “ Father Burke has sent for 
Dr. Edwards.” 

He turned his eyes from her face, a quick light flashing 
into them. 

“Would you like to see Father Burke? Shall I bring 
him to you ?” she asked eagerly. 

She read assent in his eyes, and motioned Father Burke 
to approach. 

Bertie’s lips moved again; she bent her head to listen. 


202 


Connor l)'Arcy's Struggles, 


“Don’t — go — far — away — Lottchen. ” 

“ No,’’ she answered softly. 

She did not care what he called her now. If only he 
would recover and forgive her late scorn, he might call 
her Lottchen for the rest of his life. She felt that if he 
died she would have been the cause of his death ; she knew 
without being told whose rifle had laid him there. 

He smiled faintly up into her troubled face, his eyes 
following her lingeringly as she moved away, giving place 
to Father Burke. 

Dan stood at a little distance awaiting orders, a look of 
genuine sympathy on his honest, homely face; the other 
three men had gone to the wood to cut down branches to 
form a litter. 

“To whom does the nearest house belong, Dan?’’ Lotta 
asked anxiously. 

“ Siah Butterby’s on the farm, ma’am, ye know; but 
shure it’s only a shanty, and there’s not a spot fit to lay a 
dying dog on in it, if ye had any falin’ fer him.” 

“ But Mr. Haviland will not die now, Dan, and he must 
not be taken there. Would it hurt him very much to have 
him taken to the farm ?” 

“Well, indeed, ma’am. His Reverence is afraid to move 
him at all, at all, till the docther comes, though ye know, 
ma’am, he’s a bit of a docther himself. I think His Rev- 
erence wants me.” 


Chapter 


“ White as a white sail on a dusky sea, 

When half th’ horizon’s clouded and half free, 
Fluttering between the dim wave and the sky, 

Is hope’s last gleam in man’s extremity.” 

“ No future hour can rend my heart like this save that which 
breaks it.” 

O N that sad and memorable October afternoon the 
tall pines on the hill-top looked down on a strange, 
weird sight. Four rude-looking men with un- 
covered heads surrounding a wounded man, supported in 
the strong arms of a stout, motherly-looking woman, down 
whose homely face great tears were unrestrainedly falling. 

By her side, his right hand resting lightly on the shoul- 
der of the prostrate man, knelt Mr. von Rosenberg, his 
head uncovered, his usually ruddy face pale, his clear blue 
eyes troubled and anxious. 

On one side knelt Dan, a look of reverent awe on his 
weather-tanned face, his hat, filled with water, held be- 
tween his strong brown hands; while at a little distance 
Lotta knelt and prayed — prayed with all her soul that 
Bertie Haviland might live. 

Last, though not least, of this striking central group 
stood the “ stoled priest,” in the act of administering the 
Sacrament of Baptism to the wounded man — at his earnest 
request — to whom Mr. von Rosenberg and Mrs. Morgan 
were sponsors, and for whom they spoke the words which 
his fast-failing strength would not permit him to utter; 

203 


204 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


while, far away, a fugitive was flying from justice, and a 
haggard-faced man, upon whom a lightning flash seemed 
suddenly fo have fallen, withering and blighting him in its 
descent, rode wildly in the direction of the silent group. 

“Thank God!” 

The words, so full of gratitude, fell from Bertie Havi- 
land’s pale lips, startling every one. 

“He will live. Father?” Lotta whispered joyfully to 
the priest, who was carefully folding up his stole. 

“Yes, my child, he will live in Heaven^ but Time does 
not hold many more hours in his sand-glass for my poor 
young friend. Try to take comfort from the knowledge 
that through the Sacrament of Baptism, which our 
Heavenly Father has mercifully seen fit to bestow upon 
him, his soul is now clothed in a garment white as an 
angel’s before the Eternal Throne. This most miserable 
event has only hastened the consummation of that for 
which he has been some time preparing, and let the 
knowledge that he has been fully prepared give you forti- 
tude to bear this trial which has come into your young 
life.” 

“If he dies. Father, I shall feel that I have been the 
cause of his death,” she said. 

“ My dear child, you must not indulge in such thoughts; 
you are entirely blameless. The ways of Heaven are in- 
scrutable; what seems to our weak human judgment a 
calamity is often a mercy in disguise. Remember God 
does all things well.” 

She knew he was right; but she turned away sad at 
heart, and approaching the injured man seated herself on 
the ground by his side and gently supported his head, 
while Mrs. Morgan moved to a little distance where she 
could cry quietly. 

There was a slight flush on Bertie’s pallid face and a 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 205 

new light in his eyes. Lotta looked at him with sudden 
hope. “You are better?” she questioned eagerly. 

“Better! Ah, yes, the sick made whole, Lottchen!” 

“ I spoke to you cruelly a short time since; say you for- 
give me, Bertie, and if Heaven spares your life I will give 
you the right to call me Lottchen while we two live,” she 
said earnestly. 

Poor Bertie! How could he understand the refined and 
highly sensitive nature of this girl, who, through a mis- 
taken sense of responsibility, had resolved to immolate her- 
self and atone to him through all her future life? He 
looked up at her, a great joy shining in his eyes. 

“ My darling! I have nothing to forgive. I know that 
in your priceless innocence you are as far removed above 
me as the stars of heaven are — above — the ” ‘ 

She saw with terror that he had spoken too much, that 
her words had excited where she had hoped they would 
soothe; and she gently interrupted his faltering speech. 

“I forbid you to speak another word just now. See, 
here are the men coming to take you away.” 

Four men approached, and four pairs of strong arms 
raised him gently from the ground and placed him with 
almost womanly tenderness on the litter. She saw with a 
shrinking heart the deathly pallor return to his face and 
the spasm of pain that distorted it, but she did not know 
that as the procession moved away he became unconscious. 

She hurried on before to prepare a room, Dan coming 
behind holding the bridle of Bertie’s horse, which followed 
slowly after. 

When the wild rider reached the deserted spot, there 
was only a pool of blood to tell where his son had lain. 

A number of men and women from the village were ex- 
citedly hurrying toward Fall Farm; but unheeding the 
murmur of sympathy which greeted his appearance, Squire 


2o6 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


Haviland drove his spurs fiercely into his horse’s sides and 
pursued his way, coming up to the procession as it halted 
in front of Mr. von Rosenberg’s door. 

He dismounted quietly now, while the men lowered the 
litter and entered the house through the wide passage into a 
room where Lotta and Mrs. Morgan awaited their coming. 

As the squire reached the door of the room into which 
his son had been carried. Father Burke and Mr. von 
Rosenberg came to his side. 

“ My dear sir, I need not tell you that your son is in 
a most dangerous state,” the former gentleman said, in 
tones of deepest sympathy; “the least excitement may 
prove instantly fatal. The ball cannot be extracted until 
Dr. Edwards arrives. We dread ” 

“Let me go to him!” the squire burst out hoarsely, 
passionately; “he is my only son, dear to my soul as was 
Absalom to his father David. Do not keep me from him 
lest I curse you!” 

At that moment the men, having tenderly deposited 
their insensible burden on the bed, passed silently from 
the room, and Father Burke detained one of them to ques- 
tion him. 

“ Your son is insensible, squire, and will probably remain 
so for some time,” he said gently, turning to the stricken 
parent. “I think you may^ safely see him, but I need not 
warn you to control your feelings when he returns to 
consciousness.” 

He opened the door softly, and the squire, silent, sub- 
dued, utterly broken down, entered the room. 

He saw nothing but a white bed, on which lay his only 
son, and struggled hard to repress all outward expression 
of the passionate anguish which was rending his soul as he 
gazed on the still form, stricken down in all the glory and 
pride of his early manhood by the hand of an assassin. 


Connor D 'Arty's Struggles. 


207 


Father Burke and Mr. von Rosenberg were walking 
impatiently to and fro under the piazza, casting anxious 
looks toward the road, when they were rewarded by seeing 
Dr. Edwards, his horse covered with foam and dust, riding 
furiously into sight. 

They went to meet him, thankful for his coming, and 
while he wiped the perspiration from his heated face, they 
told him in a few words what had happened, and resigning 
his steaming horse to the care of Dan, he followed the 
two gentlemen into the house. 

But medical aid availed nothing to Bertie Haviland, 
whose hours on earth were numbered. 

The following evening, supported in Lotta’s arms and 
surrounded by parents and sisters whose silent anguish 
was pitiful to behold, he took his last look of earth and 
sky. All the pain and suffering of the last twenty-four 
hours were gone, and peace had taken their place. 

The mother, who loved this her only son with all of a 
mother’s undying love, knelt by his bed, clasping his cold 
hand in both her own; the rugged countenance of the 
squire worked convulsively as he watched the face of his 
dying Absalom. 

After he had received the Viaticum from the hands of 
the priest he had rallied a little, seeing which a vain hope 
had sprung up in the breasts of those around him; but the 
dying man knew better, and told them so, with a smile not 
of earth’s on his face. 

“Father, mother, do not deceive yourselves with a false 
hope; I shall not live. It was hard at first, but, thank God, 
I am now ready to die. There is something I want you all 
to promise me. I know you will not refuse my last wishes. ” 

He listened with a faint smile to the low murmur of 
assent. 

“ I want you to promise me that you will leave the man 


2o8 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


who shot me down to the justice of God — you must not 
speak, father; if he comes in your way, promise me that 
you will not deliver him up to justice and that you will 
let him go uninjured. Remember, ‘Vengeance is mine, 
saith the Lord. ’ ” 

Squire Haviland struggled hard to subdue his wrath 
before answering this appeal ; he had sworn to have the life 
of his son’s murderer, and how was he to break this oath ? 

“ It is a hard promise to make, harder still to break the 
oath which I have taken ; but you shall not die, Bertie, 
my son, feeling that your father had refused your last 
wish.” 

“ Thanks, father! God will not hold it against you, see- 
ing that you will be more justified in the breach than in 
the observance of that oath. There is something else. I 
want you all to love Lottchen, and when a better man wins 
her for his wife let him be as a son to you; love him for 
my sake.” 

Mrs. Haviland sobbed audibly, and only her fear of 
agitating him kept her silent. 

“ You are my only son” the squire responded, with a sud- 
den burst of emotion that would not be subdued, “but if 
the young lady will let me, I will love her for your sake.” 

Lotta looked at the speaker through a mist of tears, and 
silently laid her white hand in the squire’s large palm. The 
action was more eloquent than words, and so the compact 
was sealed. 

Bertie Haviland was laid to rest in his quiet grave, at 
the head of which a white stone cross stood, with the 
name and age of the dead man and the legend “ Requiescat 
in pace ” engraven on it. 

No other grave was tended like this one, and here Lotta 
never failed to come and offer up a prayer for the soul of 
the man whose life had been the price of his love for her. 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


209 


Squire Haviland returned to his home with his sorrow- 
ing wife and family, crushed and broken-hearted, with all 
pleasure in life’s joys gone forever. 

It was soon well known throughout the county that 
Luke Pivot had committed the cruel deed. Many were the 
vows of vengeance that were breathed against him, and 
had he been discovered there is no doubt he would have 
been made to pay the penalty of his crime without the aid 
of judge or jury, after the fashion of Western law. 

His aunt dying shortly after Luke’s disappearance, his 
uncle put up the farm and stock for sale and went to reside 
with a sister in York County. 

That golden October had rolled away into the past; 
winter had come and gone; the early spring with its 
capricious winds and clouds, its mocking sunshine and 
bitter driving rains, had once more come to revisit the 
earth. 

After the long repose of winter, Mr. von Rosenberg 
waited somewhat impatiently on the slowly advancing 
spring. He longed for the commencement of out-door 
work, and went about the farm out of temper with the 
weather and the compulsory delay; he liked his hands to 
be early at work, and had a certain pride in always having 
the finest crops in the county. 

Within the farm-house was warmth, comfort, and neat- 
ness, so different in every detail to its appearance on the 
first day of Lotta’s arrival — even to sullen Mrs. Morgan, 
whom Lotta had succeeded in subjugating by having 
nursed her through a fever in the fall of the previous 
year with a tenderness which had changed the woman’s 
feelings from intense hatred to the most devoted affection. 

Lotta was standing at one of the windows of the quaint, 
wide dining-room, looking out sadly on the bleak, dreary 
prospect beyond, the lowering clouds, the drifting rain, 

14 


210 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


the leafless trees on which the brown buds were not yet 
unfolding their tender shoots to the biting winds. 

In the distance she could see the waterfall foaming and 
dashing over its rocky impediments, casting out a fine, 
misty spray before it descended to its basin, from whence 
the waters flowed in a wide, troubled stream to the river. 
She could see the pines on the distant hills nod and sway 
in the blast, and she shivered as if the cold wind from 
without had pierced her. 

She was not the Lotta of a few months ago; her form 
was more slender, her face had lost its softly rounded out- 
line, and there were dark circles under her beautiful, sad 
eyes. 

The memory of that October day was ever present with 
her; she blamed herself continually with having been the 
innocent, though actual cause of Bertie Haviland’s death. 

What was once a source of pleasure and excitement had 
ceased to interest her. She attended to her household 
duties as usual, but only through a sense of duty to the 
uncle who had given her the affection of a father and the 
shelter of his roof, supplying all her wants with a lavish 
hand. Mr. von Rosenberg saw with pain and dismay the 
change that had come over his niece, and was resolved as 
soon as the weather would permit he would take her away 
somewhere. 

Notwithstanding this, Lotta never looked more lovely 
than on this bleak day in early spring, in a gown of 
cardinal-colored cashmere and velvet, with soft ruffles of 
creamy lace at wrists and throat, dead-gold earrings and 
necklet, and her little feet incased in dainty French shoes. 

With a sigh she turned away from the sight of the nod- 
ding pines, and her glance fell on the tall figure of her 
uncle coming through the driving rain to the house, a 
large woollen muffler hiding the lower part of his face, 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


2II 


his hat crushed down to meet it, and his trousers thrust 
into the tops of his boots. 

He entered the house after carefully cleaning the mud 
from his boots and unwinding the muffler from around his 
neck, and Lotta hurried into the hall to meet him. 

“ Oh, uncle, how could you stay out in that dreadful 
rain? Come in beside the fire at once ; and, Mrs. Morgan, 
please come and take my uncle’s overcoat to the kitchen 
fire.” 

Mrs. Morgan hastened to obey, and Mr. von Rosenberg 
regarded his niece with a look of comic dismay. 

Ach! mein bestes Lottchen,, don’t come near to me and 
get your pretty hands wet — Ach! that is so good!” He 
shook himself free of his wet coverings, which he handed 
to Mrs. Morgan, and followed Lotta into the cheerful 
warmth of the dining-room. 

“ Why did you stay so long, uncle ?” she asked, drawing 
him over to the chair she had placed for him. “ There, 
sit down beside that warm fire, and Mrs. Morgan will 
bring in the tea.” 

He dropped into the cozy arm-chair with a sigh of 
intense enjoyment. 

""Ach! ja,, Lottchen^ mein Kind^ this is good!” he said 
smilingly. “I have news: mein Lottchen will not be so 
lonely soon — Butternut Farm is sold; I was talking to the 
lawyer from the city. It seems to me it might be your 
good friends who have bought it; the lawyer said the 
gentleman was named D’Arcy. ” 

“Oh, uncle! not Butternut Farm!” Lotta cried in 
startled tones; but at that instant Mrs. Morgan entered 
with the tea-tray. 


Chapter I^ir. 


“ Gloom is upon thy lonely hearth, 

O silent house once filled with mirth. 

Sorrow is in the breezy sound 
Of thy tall poplars whispering round. 

“ The shadow of departed hours 
Hangs dim upon thine early flowers ; 

Even in thy sunshine seems to brood 
Something more deep than solitude.” 

— The Deserted House. 

B utternut farm, lately the property of Seth 
Pivot, was of large extent. The house was situated 
in a beautiful little valley, three miles distant from 
Lotta’s home, and although the owners of Butternut Farm 
had been her nearest visiting neighbors previous to the 
terrible tragedy of Bertie Haviland’s murder, she had 
never since then even approached the valley. 

Mr. Pivot had been proud of his farm, of his wide, well- 
cleared land laid out in broad, neatly fenced fields of wav- 
ing grain, of his reaping-machines, his threshing-ma- 
chines — Mr. Pivot patronized every new machine capable 
of accelerating labor — of his cattle and horses; he was 
proud also of his house, which stood in the loveliest and 
most sheltered part of the valley; it was a long, low 
building, with a wide piazza in front, covered with Virginia 
creepers and odorous Madeira vines. 

At the back of the house rose a hill covered down to its 
base with a scrub of dwarf butternut-trees. In front of 


212 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


213 


the house was a smooth, well-kept lawn, and at one side 
a grove of elms of )^outhful growth, reaching down to the 
border of a fair lake, cool, clear, fathomless, reflecting in 
its dimpled surface their graceful, curving branches and 
slender, drooping twigs. On the other side of the house 
was a large old-fashioned garden and orchard, the former 
intersected by long alleys formed by pretty rows of maple 
trees; at the foot of the garden a magnificent cedar tree, 
with great outspreading branches reaching nearly to the 
ground, formed a beautiful arbor furnished with rustic 
seats and an equally rustic table. 

But now the house with its pretty lawn, its shrubberies, 
orchard, and garden looked neglected and forsaken. The 
honeysuckle, broken, storm-tossed, trailed unheeded on 
the ground; the lilac and snowball bushes, just putting 
forth fresh green leaves, shared in the general look of 
neglect; the alleys and lawns were strewn with dead, 
bleached leaves and here and there a few broken twigs 
and branches. 

The man in charge of the farm lived a short way up the 
valley, close to the entrance of which, on a rising ground, 
near to a clump of cottonwood trees, were clustered several 
rude shanties formerly occupied by the farm helps, but 
now standing deserted and forlorn. 

One bright, sunny day a change came to the lonely 
dwelling in the valley. 

The windows were unshuttered and open, admitting into 
the long-disused rooms the delicious breath of May, fra- 
grant with the fresh green odors of reawakened nature; 
the doors were laid back invitingly, and there floated out 
on the sweet air the sound of voices masculine and femi- 
nine, mingling with laughter fresh and musical and pleas- 
ant little shrieks of dismay. 

In the shrubbery and garden over a dozen of men were 


214 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


working with a will, planting, setting, pruning trees, 
fastening up broken vines and carrying away the litter. 
The lawn in front of the house was strewn with a quantity 
of rich, old-fashioned furniture upon which two pairs of 
brawny feminine arms were trying their powers of persua- 
sion with the most satisfactory results. 

In one of the apartments, from which the furniture had 
all been removed, Denise D’Arcy and Lotta von Rosen- 
berg were standing’ leaning on long-handled dusters, which 
together with their short-skirted gowns, wide aprons, and 
sleeves rolled up to their shoulders was strongly suggestive 
of work ; in front of them stood Connor, wearing a linen 
duster, his shapely white hands soiled and otherwise be- 
traying evidence of hard usage. 

With his body half-way through the open window, Frank 
Brand, looking none the better for his contact with dust 
and cobwebs, was amusing himself humming a tune and 
watching the performance of the two women on the lawn, 
with an occasional word to those within the room. 

“Well,” Denise said, complacently looking around her, 
“ I think, Connor, you must allow that Lotta and I have 
done a very commendable morning’s work, and that the 
walls of this and the adjoining rooms look very pretty. 
You may laugh at our head-gear if the sight affords you 
amusement, but I assure you, sir, we present a very re- 
spectable, workman-like appearance.” 

“ Why not say workwoman-like ?” Connor asked teas- 
ingly. 

“ For the reason that I do not think the word sufficiently 
expressive; but I have called a rest and we are going to 
strike for dinner. I wish, Mr. Brand, that you would ask 
one of those women on the lawn to inquire if Miss D’Arcy 
will give us any dinner to-day, or if we are to be starved 
out.” 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


215 


Frank Brand, who had become what Eva had once 
laughingly named him, T ami de la 77iaisoji^" drew in his 
head and shoulders with alacrity. 

“ My dear child !” he answered gayly, “ it would be such 
a pity, you know, to send either of the good women away 
from a recreation which they appear to enjoy so heartily; 
therefore with your permission I shall myself seek the 
culinary regions and prefer your very reasonable and 
seasonable request.” 

Frank’s speech was greeted with a burst of laughter, and 
as he disappeared Connor called after him : 

“ Please remember our wants, and don’t remain in the 
‘culinary regions’ till supper-time.” 

A moment later Mrs. Morgan’s stout figure appeared in 
the doorway. 

“ I guess, ladies and Mr. Connor, if you wants dinner 
you’ll have to take it in the kitchen. I reckon you’ve 
had a purty long spell working and wouldn’t be the worse 
for something to eat.” 

“Thanks, Mrs. Morgan,” Connor answered politely; 
and Mrs. Morgan, who vras already charmed by Connor’s 
manner, vanished with a satisfied smile. 

“Allow me the pleasure, ladies?” Connor said, with 
mock ceremony, bowing profoundly as he offered an arm 
to each of the two girls. 

“Thanks,” Lotta responded, a little maliciously, “we 
must decline to accept such attentions from a gentleman 
in dmner dress; we are only helps, you know, going to the 
kitchen for our dinner.” 

The kitchen had been partially set in order, and pre- 
sented a more habitable appearance than any other part of 
the house, and a happy party were soon gathered round 
the dinner-table. 

“ I think you have been very fortunate in securing this 


2i6 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


place, Connor,” Mr. Brand remarked, in the midst of a 
very animated flow of small-talk. “ A few years of good 
management and it will be quite a handsome estate, some- 
thing to be proud of, old man.” 

Connor smiled. 

“ I shall certainly do my utmost to improve it. I ques- 
tion if in all the States I could have found a spot more 
exactly to my mind.” 

“It is lovely! lovely!” Denise cried enthusiastically. 
“ I cannot imagine how the owners of such a place have 
been induced to part with it.” 

The smile faded from Lotta’s face, the color from her 
lips; she bent hastily over her plate, and Frank answered 
gayly: 

“ My dear child, have you yet to learn that there are 
causes for every effect in this world if we could but discover 
them ? But I think in this case the cause is very apparent : 
the poor old man was lonely after the death of his wife.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Brand, for your very lucid explanation; 
and please excuse my density, which yet I need scarcely 
regret, since it has served to afford you an opportunity of 
displaying to your admiring listeners your great powers of 
observation,” Denise retorted mischievously. 

Lotta’s agitation had passed unnoticed by all save Con- 
nor and Frank. 

Denise and Lotta were alone together under the great 
cedar tree in the garden. The former was saying: 

“ I could never tell in words all that I suffered after 
Connor went away; although he said he was going to 
Teddy, I felt sure he would never return to us. I do not 
think my fears were in the least lessened when papa told 
Aunt Kate that he had arranged everything and was 
going in the next steamer to bring Teddy home. I 
dreaded with a great dread all that might ensue when papa 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


217 


and Connor should meet. I did not fear for Teddy, he is 
so gentle, you know, poor boy! I saw that auntie shared 
all my fears, but she was silent on the subject, so I 
refrained from speaking of my misery. Mr. Brand was so 
kind; he called to see us every day and looked after 
papa’s affairs. Eva was so, busy with tradespeople and 
milliners she did not seem to have a thought for anything 
but her trousseau. I don’t know what we should have 
done, auntie and I, all through that time, if Mr. Brand had 
not been so attentive; he did everything he could to make 
the time pass pleasantly. But oh, Lotta! when they, 
papa and the boys, returned together, and I saw them 
drive up to the house, and papa alighting, looking so 
happy, and Connor helping Teddy out of the carriage, I 
laughed and cried for very joy. I don’t know how it had 
been effected ; but papa and Connor were quite reconciled. 
Connor went away somewhere a few days before the wed- 
dings came off — for Eva was married on the same day as 
papa, you know — and did not return until all was over and 
they had gone away. Papa and Mrs. D’Arcy were only 
a month absent on account of Teddy’s health. Eva and 
Mr. Felix Rooney are going to travel over Europe before 
they return, and will be absent for twelve months. While 
papa and Mrs. D’Arcy were absent Connor managed every- 
thing as formerly; but it was understood that he would 
not remain in New York. He refused to use the money 
that papa had secured to him, but he consented to accept 
the loan of a certain sum, which, together with what he had 
saved from his salary, would be sufficient to complete the 
purchase-money of this place. Teddy remains with papa 
and Mrs. D’Arcy; she appears to like him very much. 
Auntie and I chose to come here and help Connor. We 
wanted to see you so much, dear; it was just like old times, 
coming to reside so near to you.” 


2I« 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


“ You have not told me about Mrs. D’ Arcy yet. Is she 
pretty, Denise?” 

“ She is more than pretty, she is beautiful, with a proud, 
lazy kind of beauty; not at all like dear mamma, but she 
can be very charming. I know I should have liked her 
very much if she had not taj^en mamma’s place.” 

“ Yes, I understand; and Eva, is she very happy? Tell 
me all about her husband.” 

“I would much rather not speak of him, Lotta; but 
since you have asked me I will tell you. Eva’s marriage 
has been a great disappointment to papa and the rest of 
us; Connor could not be even civil to him. Mr. Felix 
Rooney’s possessions can be enumerated thus: great 
wealth, unbounded self-esteem, and a ridiculous affectation 
of elegant gentility. He is short and slender, and though 
not coarse-looking, nature has marked him with the sign- 
manual of his birthright, for in every feature she has 
traced with indelible obstinacy and, Lotta dear, 
if you could but see his father! Canaille is written in capital 
letters all over his person, from the crown of his horrid- 
looking head down to his great, broad, misshapen feet! I 
could never understand what could have influenced Eva in 
making such a choice; you remember how beautiful she 
was, despite her poor dress, when we lived in Charlotte 
Street; but the Eva of those days would give you but a 
very faint, very imperfect notion of the Eva of to-day. 
She is like some rare exotic in beauty and delicacy of 
coloring.” 

The season was a busy one, full of activity and life. 
The hands on Fall Farm had scarcely breathing-time, but 
Mr. von Rosenberg had insisted upon the D’Arcys and 
their guest, Mr. Brand, staying at his house until their 
own was set in order, so they drove to the valley every 
morning, returning in the evening to Fall Farm. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


219 


These were happy days for every one. Lotta was begin- 
ning to look more like her former self, although she 
avoided visiting Butternut Farm whenever she could find 
an excuse for so doing. 

But a day came when everything was declared to be 
satisfactorily completed, and Frank Brand could no longer 
delay his return to the city and business; then life fell back 
into its usual routine for Lotta, except that Kate and 
Denise were her frequent visitors, but during the busy 
weeks that followed her meetings with Connor were not 
so frequent. 


Chapter f 


“ When I stood beneath the fresh green tree, 

And saw around me the wide fields revive 
With fruits and fertile promise; and the spring 
Come forth, her work of gladness to contrive. 

With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 

I turned from all she brought, to all she could not bring.” 

— Childe Harold. 

“ Despair is never quite despair; 

Nor life nor death the future closes; 

And round the shadowy brow of care 
Wild hope and fancy twine their roses.” 

— Mrs. Hemans. 

F ather BURKE’S chapel was a rudely constructed 
edifice, situated outside of the village boundaries, 
on a rising ground, and was shaded in front by two 
magnificent elm trees, beyond which a tolerably large space 
of ground was cleared and neatly fenced in ; it was the 
prettiest and best-cared-for spot in the vicinity. 

Here, after Holy Mass on Sundays, the little congrega- 
tion gathered in clusters to discuss the events of the past 
week or news from home. 

It was Sunday morning. The sky was cloudless and 
blue as a sapphire ; the sun was pouring down his rays on 
the parched earth with pitiless splendor; the leaves upon 
the trees hung limp and drooping; the grass looked dry 
and shrivelled; the birds sat listless and silent on the 
trees. 

Within the little chapel the heat was overpowering, and 
220 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 


221 


at the conclusion of Mass there was a simultaneous rush 
made for the cool shade of the great elms without. Rough 
men regarded Connor with admiring envy, he looked so 
cool and elegant in his white summer suit, and Mr. von 
Rosenberg told him so as he greeted him cordially. 

“ Did you drive over? Lottchen talks of walking home, 
but it is a long walk by the road under this sun. My 
Lottchen has never gone by the wood-road since poor 
Bertie Haviland was murdered just below the hill yonder. 
Ach! it was sad — it went near to killing my Lottchen.” 

This was the first that Connor had heard of the tragedy 
which was known far and wide throughout the country. 
“This, then, was the meaning of the change in her,” he 
thought, a sharp pang piercing his heart. 

The smile faded from his face, a gray pallor replac- 
ing it, and Mr. von Rosenberg wondered at the sudden 
change. 

He looked like one who had received a terrible shock. 

“I did not know there bad been a murder,” Connor 
said, in a strangely altered voice. 

Mr. von Rosenberg’s reply was cut short by the ap- 
proach of Father Burke, who greeted them heartily not- 
withstanding the heat. 

Kate and Denise had seized upon Lotta and were urg- 
ing her to accompany them back to Butternut Farm and 
to coax her uncle to join them. 

“ I have a fancy for being at home to-day,” Lotta said, 
shrinking as usual from going to the valley, “so come 
with me to-day and we will go with you next time.” 

“ It is too hot for further argument, so we will let Con- 
nor decide,” Kate answered. 

“ I have such good news, Lotta, you really don’t deserve 
that I should tell you, since you prefer turning your back 
upon paradise, />., Butternut Farm,” Denise said, her 


222 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


eyes sparkling with delight, “ but I will be more merciful 
than you deserve. Connor has had a letter from papa. He 
thinks that Teddy, who is anxious to see us all, would be 
better at the farm during the heated season, and as Mrs. 
D’Arcy objects to Teddy travelling alone until he is 
stronger, they are all coming; so you will soon see your 
old admirer, Teddy, and Mrs. D’Arcy.” 

“Dear Teddy!” Lotta exclaimed, a glow of pleasure 
lighting up her beautiful face, “ it will be such happiness 
to see him again.” 

“Teddy is a lucky boy! for once I envy him,” inter- 
jected Connor. 

Lotta turned with a start and a vivid blush and smilingly 
extended her hand. 

“Good-morning! Don’t indulge in envy and all un- 
charitableness. Do you find the heat very intolerable? 
I dread leaving the shade of these drooping branches and 
committing myself to the mercy of that piercing sun. 
Are you not well ?” 

' He forced a laugh, 

“ I am very well, thanks. Father Burke has just been 
asking me the same question. I suppose I must be of the 
salamander species, since I do not find the heat atfect me 
very unpleasantly.” 

“ Still, I should not advise you to trust too much to such 
a questionable supposition, Mr. D’Arcy. It is a rather 
dangerous experiment to stand so long with your head 
uncovered, even though you are partly in the shade; a 
sunstroke is not a very pleasant thing to endure, and your 
salamandrine proclivities may not preserve you against 
one,” Father Burke remarked amusedly, as he came 
slowly up to them by the side of Mr. von Rosenberg. 

“Do put on your hat, Connor, dear!” Kate and Denise 
cried eagerly, but Connor only smiled indifferently, 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


223 


stepped out of the sunshine under the shade of the elm 
tree, and stood beside them. 

“ Lotta wants us to go home with her, Connor; I said 
that you should decide.” 

“ Then I decidedly favor Miss von Rosenberg’s wishes, 
whatever they may be,” Connor answered at once. 

“ Thanks. Shall we walk to the end of the village, or 
would you prefer driving all the way?” Lotta asked 
brightly. 

“ I shall be guided by your decision ; I have no choice 
in the matter.” 

“Let us walk a little way,” Denise said eagerly, and so 
it was decided. 

Lotta was hurt and puzzled by the constraint in Con- 
nor’s tone, and seeing with surprise that he persistently 
avoided looking at her, she went hastily to where her 
uncle stood. 

“We are all going home now, uncle,” she said. “Are 
you ready?” 

Ae/i / ja., 7nein Herz.^ I am ready,” he answered, gently 
patting the hand she had laid on his arm. 

Then he told Dan to drive to the outskirts of the village 
and await their coming. 

A general hand-shaking followed, a confused interchange 
of ideas on the heat, parting adieux with Father Burke, 
and they were off. 

They passed through the village, where a number of 
brown-faced, rough-looking men were scattered about on 
the burnt-up semblance of grass that grew, or rather 
wilted, under the scorching sun. 

Little children were playing on the dusty road in front 
of some houses, for the most part ragged, dirty, unkempt; 
but there were sturdy little fellows and pretty, healthy- 
looking little baby-girls among them. 


224 


Connor £>*Arcfs Struggles. 


As they passed along the village street they were fol- 
lowed by glances of admiration from the men — the women 
and children rushing to their doors to get a better view of 
the ladies and '‘that han’some young gent from Butter- 
nut Farm.” 

Yet “ that han’some young gent” did not look strikingly 
happy as he walked between Lotta and Denise, whose 
appearance created feelings of admiration and envy in 
more than one girlish breast as they looked with jealous 
eyes after the graceful figures, losing sight of the simplicity 
of the apparel in the elegance of the wearers. 

“ Jem-mi-mo! thar’s style for you; mebbe some o’ you 
gals could try it on. I’ll bet you five dollars agin’ Mel- 
lisa’s new breastpin that all you wimming would give yer 
ears to make sich a figur’ as any o’ them three gals. 
Whew! wouldn’t ye, though; but that would be agin’ 
natur’,” cried one of the loungers on the grass to the 
occupants of the doorways as the observed of all eyes 
passed out of sight. 

“ You shut up, Zeke Carter ! ye’re jist as mad as a hornet 
that yer can’t spank out as that han’some young feller 
down in Butternut Farm can. Sakes alive! if you was 
jist as rich and han’some, ’stead of bein’ as poor as Job’s 
turkey, you’d be lookin’ for the President’s darter. But 
you jist let my Mellisa alone; I guess you’d a sight better. 
She wouldn’t throw away her chances on the likes of you, 
you bet.” 

“Wa-al, Mrs. Purson, you is sharp, to be sure! you 
raly hit it right -smart that time. I reckon if I war sich a 
swell as that thar young Butternut feller, I’d no more look 
at your Mellisa nor he do. I’d jist be tryin’ his game, 
which be makin’ love to that purty gal of old von Rosen- 
berg’s. Thar ain’t her equal in the States, no matter 
how you fix it. Them Butternut gals are purty, you bet; 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


225 


but they wouldn’t be no more’n the light of a dozen tallow 
dips to a New York ’lamination to her. I’d have that 
gal afore all the gals in the States.” 

“ And git yerself shot as young Squire Haviland done, 
and sarve you right for bein’ sich a consarn’d fool !” And 
with this parting shot Mrs. Purson retreated into her 
house, banging her door violently behind her. 

‘‘I say, Mrs. Purson, you’ll want the hinges o’ yer 
tongue ’iled after that,” her tormentor called loudly after 
her amid a chorus of laughter and uproarious applause. 

All unconscious of the wordy warfare which their appear- 
ance had evoked in the village, Lotta and her friends went 
serenely on their way. 

At the outskirts of the village were two roads; the 
broader, leading out to well-cultivated land, lay before 
them under the blazing sun, straight, white, for the most 
part unsheltered, rich sections of grain parched and droop- 
ing on either side. The other was a well-beaten track, 
bordered by a low scrub of box-elder and sugar-maple, 
which gradually increased in size and terminated in a 
large wood, behind winch rose high hills crowned with 
pines. Here they found Dan waiting their coming, with 
the wagonette and the horses drawn into the shelter of 
the sugar-maples. 

Mr. von Rosenberg was enjoying his after-dinner siesta 
— he had had a musical treat — had listened entranced while 
Connor and Lotta sang the duet, ‘‘ O lovely Peace,” from 
Handel’s “Judas Maccabaeus,” and tears stood in his eyes 
as he listened to Gounod’s “ Ave Maria.” 

Then Denise played the solo from Rossini’s Stabat 
Mater,” with a soft, exquisite touch, until his eyelids 
drooped, then closed over his heavy eyes, and his head 
came in contact with the back of his chair — seeing which 
Lotta lightly dropped her cobweb handkerchief over his 
15 


226 


Connor D' Arcy's Struggles, 


face, lest the flies that would float dreamily in through the 
open doors and windows might disturb his repose. 

Connor strolled out to the shrubbery to think over the 
bitterness that had found its way into his heart, and Kate, 
taking Lotta’s arm, drew her out upon the piazza, leaving 
Denise to the undisturbed enjoyment of her music. 

She sang softly and played dreamy accompaniments in 
a minor key, although Lotta had assured her that the 
music of an orchestra would fail to disturb her uncle’s 
slumbers. 

So Denise played on, until all the brightness faded from 
her face and her eyes were filled to overflowing with tears, 
and the pair upon the piazza talked in low, subdued tones, 
and Connor flung away the end of his second cigar and 
continued to pace the shrubbery, brooding deeply. 

“ It is more pleasant now. I think it will be refreshingly 
cool for our return home!” 

Kate and Lotta looked up, startled. Connor was stand- 
ing tall and stately before them. 

“ Really, Connor, you here! 1 thought you were smok- 
ing in the shrubbery,” Kate remarked, with a smile. 

“ I have been in the shrubbery just fifty-seven minutes, 
my watch says; but if you desire to banish me for a longer 
period of time, I shall ” 

“Fifty-seven minutes! You astonish me, Connor! I 
did not think you had been gone fifteen minutes,” Kate 
said quickly, seeing a look of pain in her nephew’s eyes. 
“You can have my seat, Connor, while I go and look 
if Denise has followed Mr. von Rosenberg’s example and 
fallen asleep under the combined influence of heat and 
music.” 

But Connor did not avail himself of the invitation, but 
leaned on the back of the chair which his aunt had just 
vacated. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 227 

“ I hope you enjoyed your fifty-seven minutes in the 
shrubbery, Mr. D’Arcy?” Lotta asked, with a smile. 

“ I do not think that misery is at any time enjoyable. 
Miss von Rosenberg, even in a shrubbery with the sun 
laughing down upon one through the green leaves.” 

“ Misery ?” in a tone of incredulous surprise, the beauti- 
ful eyes opening wide as she looked at him. 

He nodded slowly, gazing sadly down into her upturned 
face. 

“Yes, fifty-seven minutes of bitter misery, trying to 
reconcile myself to the inevitable, trying to look my 
shattered hopes of happiness bravely in the face, trying to 
gather up my broken idols and bury them out of sight. 
It is not a very easy achievement. Miss von Rosenberg, 
when a man has cherished these hopes for years, made 
them the motive power of all his actions, to rise unhurt and 
serene out of their ruins.” 

“ I — I do not understand, Mr. D’Arcy. I am truly 
grieved, believe me, if you have met with any disappoint- 
ment, if anything has occurred to make you miserable,” 
she said, with earnest sympathy. 

“It used to be Connor in the old days, Lotta,” he said 
reproachfully. “ Do you know what it was to me then to 
hear my name from your lips ? It was life, hope, strength. 
When I saw you no more, all hope, all brightness vanished 
from my life. I resolved to see you again no matter what 
obstacles I should have to overcome. The hope of seeing 
you made me relinquish every other hope. The sight of 
your face reconciled me to a mode of life utterly uncon- 
genial to me. I went heart and soul into the work be- 
fore me; only this morning I looked with pleasure on 
the house which I had made my home, on its fair sur- 
roundings, on my fast-ripening grain, on my fields of rich 
pasture land and handsome cattle, because I had hoped 


228 


Connor D ’Aroy's Struggles. 


that one day you might care enough for me to come and 
share them with me. Now I know that hope was as de- 
lusive as a mirage of the desert. A few short hours ago 
my heart was filled with pleasant anticipations of all the 
future might hold for me; now it holds only the ashes of 
hope, for I know that you have never loved me.” 

She rose to her feet, the color fluctuating painfully on 
her cream-white face. 

“ How do you know, Connor, that I have never cared 
for you? T did care for you; I do care for you now more 
than I have ever cared for any created being; but, oh, 
Connor! I can never share your home, for the grave of 
Bertie Haviland lies between us!” 


Chapter ^^ITirir, 


“ Love is no wandering vapor. 

That lures astray with treacherous spark ; 

Love is no transient taper 
That lives an hour and leaves us dark.” 

— Pringle. 


•‘A certain miracle of symmetry, 

A miniature of loveliness, all grace. 

Summed up and closed in little ! ” 

-Tennyson. 


M 


E-ES DENISE, Me-e-es De-ni-ise!” 

“What is the matter, Sara?” a sweet voice 
cried in answer, and a large sun-hat pro- 
truded from among the leafy branches of a great peach- 
tree. 


“ Dey’s all here, Mees Denise, please, Mistah D’Arcy, 

an’ de madam, an’ Mistah Teddy, an’ ” 

A scream of delight came from the tree, a rustling of 
branches, a shower of leaves and rich, luscious peaches 
fell to the ground ; and a white figure sprang out and down 
into the arms of a gentleman. 

“O Teddy darling! darling Teddy!” 

The sky was blue, a deep sapphire blue, with never a 
cloud to soften or subdue its intensity. The sun was sink- 
ing below the horizon like a huge ball of fire; the locust 
piped shrilly, knowing with insect instinct that there was 
likely to be a continuation of dry weather. In the rich 
pasture land, which, being situated near the bend of a 

229 


230 


Connor D 'Arcy*s Struggles. 


small river, was well irrigated, the cattle lay panting and 
exhausted under the trees, whose thick, wide-spreading 
branches afforded a grateful shade for the tired animals. 

Not a breath of air stirred the drooping leaves on the 
trees, but it was pleasant in the orchard at Butternut 
Farm, where Sara stood, eyes and teeth shining with 
delight, as she saw her young mistress throw her arms 
around the neck of the gentleman who had caught her just 
in time to save her from a severe fall, 

“ De lor’, how she will take on!” Sara ejaculated, 
thrusting her apron into her mouth to stifle an explosive 
burst of laughter as she ran out of the orchard. 

But .Denise saw her mistake the instant she raised her 
eyes to the face bending over her. 

“Mr. Clifford!” she gasped, shrinking away, her sweet 
face crimson with pain and confusion as he placed her 
safely on terra jirma and released her ; then raising his 
hat he stood with uncovered head bowing before her. 

She did not raise her eyes and kept her blushing face 
averted. 

“You are not hurt, I hope?” he asked anxiously. 

She tried to look at him — tried to laugh at her mistake, 
but in the effort burst into tears. 

“Denise! Good heavens, child! if I had thought my 
presence would have distressed you like this I should 
have remained away forever. I have followed you here, 
carissima, in the hope that you may have reconsidered your 
answer to me, for I love you so utterly that I can find no 
happiness apart from you, and I refuse to accept your 
answer as final.’’ 

He had taken her hand in his while speaking, but she 
snatched it hastily away. 

“You are cruel!” she cried out passionately, “to follow 
me like this, and I shall not listen to you.” 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 231 

§he darted past him out of the orchard through a little 
gate into the garden, along a shady alley leading to the 
house, never once pausing for breath until, in turning a 
corner, she blindly dashed up against some one coming 
from the house — a man, she knew, for his arms closed 
round her hastily. She struggled violently to free herself. 

“Oh, don’t!” she cried shrilly. “How dare you?” 

“Why, Denise, what is wrong, dear?” 

She uttered a little hysterical scream, and in a paroxysm 
of tears and laughter her head sank on Teddy’s shoulder. 

Teddy’s restoration to health had not been so rapid as 
his favorable surroundings might have warranted; the 
want and privation which he had endured had told severely 
on a constitution naturally delicate; but notwithstanding 
the fatigues of his recent journey he was all excitement 
to see Lotta, and at an early hour the following morning, 
accompanied by Denise, he rode over to Fall Farm. 

The following days were spent by the new arrivals in 
going over the farm suggesting improvements, examining 
every spot of interest in the neighborhood, scrambling up 
the hills, rambling through the woods, rowing on the 
river, and in the cool of the evening lounging on the 
broad, vine-wreathed piazza. 

Mr. Clifford had avoided Denise ever since that little 
scene in the orchard, in his cold, proud fashion emulating 
her evident desire to shun him; and when Mrs. D’Arcy 
proposed a pic-nic and expressed a wish that Miss von 
Rosenberg should make one of the party, Denise gladly 
accompanied Teddy to Fall Farm. 

“Oh, Teddy, see, there is Lotta!” Denise cried, suddenly 
reining in her horse. 

Teddy looked excitedly in the direction pointed out. 

It was Lotta sure enough, Lotta on horseback riding 
away from them in an opposite direction, closely followed 


232 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


by Dan; they were keeping in the shade of the trees grow- 
ing close to the river’s bank. 

Teddy shouted shrilly, using his hand for a speaking- 
trumpet, and waving his straw hat, but in vain; there 
was only a flash of color as she came for an instant into 
the sunlight before she disappeared from sight. 

“What shall we do now?” Teddy asked with marked 
disappointment and regret. “ Shall we try to overtake 
them ?’’ 

“ It would be no use, dear, she was at too great a dis- 
tance when I first noticed her. I wonder where she can 
be going that she rides so swiftly ?” 

“ Then, since we cannot overtake her, shall we return ?” 

“ No, we will go on to the farm and leave Mrs. D’Arcy’s 
note with Mrs. Morgan for Lotta. ” 

They found Mrs. Morgan busy as usual, but she wel- 
comed them with evident pleasure, fussing about and 
begging of them to partake of some refreshments after 
their long ride; to which Teddy, always thoughtful for 
the feelings of others, consented, and they sat down in 
the cool, shady room, with the fragrant breath of the 
vines coming in through the open window, to partake of 
Mrs. Morgan’s home-made wine, rich milk, delicious 
peaches, honey, maple molasses, and biscuits. 

She told them that Squire Haviland had had a fit, and 
owing to the excessive heat his wife feared he would not 
recover, and she had sent for Miss von Rosenberg. 

She told them a great deal more also, and when her 
visitors rose to depart they knew quite as much as Mrs. 
Morgan did of the death of Bertie Haviland and its 
cause. 

The brother and sister rode silently along for some 
time. 

“Denise,” Teddy said suddenly, “do you imagine that 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


233 


that is the reason why Lotta comes so seldom to the 
valley? You know you told me she has not been four 
times to see you.” 

“ I am afraid it is, Teddy, and — and that she has refused 
Connor; he has never been the same since we spent the 
Sunday with Lotta three weeks ago.” 

Nothing more was said by either until they neared home, 
when they caught sight of an approaching wagon. 

“Oh, there’s Connor going to the depot,” Teddy cried. 
“If father will let me I’ll go with him.” 

But after a glance at Teddy’s flushed face, Mr. D’Arcy 
decided that he had already ridden far enough. 

“ You will be better in the house, Teddy, ” he said ; “ the 
sun is too strong for you.” And with a kind word to 
Denise they drove away. 

The wagon turned down the hillside to the highway at 
its foot, where, about a hundred yards away, a double- 
track railway crossed the road. In the distance they 
heard the shrill scream of a locomotive. 

“That will be the train from Philadelphia now, father,” 
Connor remarked. 

“ I think not,” Mr. D’Arcy responded. “ I fancy it is the 
train for, not from, Philadelphia.” 

They turned a curve in the wagon-road as he spoke, and 
were startled to perceive a man rushing madly forward 
toward the railway crossing. 

“What is the matter? Has there been an accident?” 
Connor asked. 

“ The cars have run off the track, the locomotive is 
smashed, and I guess some of the passengers are scalded 
to death,” he answered breathlessly. 

“ Where did it happen ?” 

“ Down the line a bit, I reckon, mister,” the man called 
back as he ran on. 


234 Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 

“ Had we not better tell Amos to take the wagon down 
the line, father?” 

“I think so, Connor; it is lucky you have the wagon 
here,” Mr. D’Arcy answered. 

About half a mile down the line they came upon the 
scene of the catastrophe. 

The man had not exaggerated. 

The engine and several of the carriages were wrecked, 
and some of the passengers badly scalded. 

The utmost confusion and disorder reigned on every 
side — children crying, women screaming, men rushing 
hither and thither shouting and swearing, while others 
were trying to rescue the injured from the debris, and in 
a ditch three men and a woman lay dead or insensible, 
surrounded by some of the contents of the wrecked bag- 
gage-car. 

A woman on her knees was sobbing over a baby-boy 
of some two years. The little face looked so still, so 
waxen; the soft baby hair clung damp and disordered 
to the white brow; his garments, which were of the 
richest material, were covered with dust and drenched 
with water. 

“ I hope your baby is not dead, madam. Let me take 
him from you while I assist you to rise,” Connor said 
very gently. 

The woman raised her tear-stained face, struck by the 
rich, musical voice and tone of genuine sympathy. 

“Oh, sir, he is dead!” she cried piteously, “my beauti- 
ful darling! But I am only his nurse, sir. I was walking 
about with him when it happened, and he was laughing 
and talking so prettily, and now — now he is dead ! What 
will the earl — what will the countess say ? And Sir Arthur 
“it will break Sir Arthur’s heart!” 

“Where are your master and mistress?” Connor asked 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


235 


as he assisted the woman to rise and looked down into 
the sweet baby face, touching the little hands tenderly, 
seeking for some sign of life. 

“ They were in the train. Oh, what shall I do ?” with 
a sudden burst of newly awakened terror; “perhaps they 
are dead also!” 

Connor looked around him anxiously. 

“ Can you sit on this tree-trunk while I go in search of 
them? Let me help you. You are not fit to stand.” 

She thanked him gratefully. 

“ Now,” he said cheerfully, when he had assisted her to 
a seat on the stump of the tree, “ I will find out what has 
become of your master and mistress. Take courage — the 
child may be only stunned after all!” 

A few yards down the track two men were bending 
over a woman’s motionless form, and Connor paused 
beside them. 

“ Is she dead ?” he inquired. 

“Wall, I guess, mister, she looks more dead’n alive; 
don’t you think so?” 

Connor did think so; and he bent and gently wiped the 
dust from the white face. 

A low ejaculation of intense surprise escaped him. 

“What is it, mister? Is the lady a friend of yours?” 
one of the men asked, a little curiously. 

“ The lady is a stranger to me, my man ; but see, she is 
reviving.” 

A pair of dark eyes opened wide and a faint sigh 
escaped the parted lips, to which the color was slowly 
returning, and a clear, high-bred voice asked sharply: 

“What is it? Where am I ? What has happened ?” 

“ There has been an accident, madam, but you are quite 
safe,” Connor answered reassuringly. 

The white lids closed over the dark eyes. 


236 


Connor D' Arcy' s Struggles. 


“ Jest you swaller a leetle sup o’ this water, marm,” one 
of the men said with rude kindness, holding a gourd-shell 
filled with deliciously cold spring-water to her lips; “it’ll 
bring you about right smart.” 

With a sudden energy she thrust the gourd away, flash- 
ing upon the man a glance of cold surprise and great dis- 
pleasure. 

“ Where is my woman ? Where is Lord Riversmede ?” 
she inquired haughtily. 

“ You forget, madam, that we are all strangers to you and 
cannot possibly answer your questions, and that those good 
men were simply performing an act of humanity in striv- 
ing to restore you to consciousness,” Connor said, indig- 
nant at her rejection of the man’s well-meant attentions. 

“As you’ve gotten over that faintin’-spell, marm,” one 
of the men said, “we’ll jest leave you to this gentleman 
and give help whar it’s more needed.” 

The lady looked at Connor a little less haughtily, but 
with evident surprise. 

“I remember all now,” she said. “Will you assist me 
to rise? Thanks! Lend me your arm, please.” 

She was trembling violently, and Connor raised the 
gourd of water from the ground and held it toward her. 

“You will find this water very refreshing,” he said; “let 
me beg you will taste it.” 

She assented with a languid inclination of the head, and 
he held it to her lips while she swallowed a little of the 
water, which appeared to revive her. 

“There is my husband. Lord Riversmede,” she said 
hastily. “ Will you tell him to come to me, please ?” 

He left her resting on a pile of luggage which had been 
collected from amid the general ruin, and presently re- 
turned with a rather handsome, rather blas^-\o6k\ng man 
of fashion, an unmistakable English aristocrat. He had 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 


237 


evidently been hurt, for he walked with a slight limp and 
held on by Connor’s arm, and altogether looked very 
much the worse for his enforced visit to the ditch. 

“Well, Edith, my dear, all right, eh? Rather seedy- 
looking, though; a little smashed up myself, don’t you 
know. But I say. Sir Arthur’s badly hurt — got a leg 
broken or something of that sort; deuced pity — can’t get 
a conveyance of any kind to have him taken to the village. 
Shocking affair, isn’t it?” 

“But, Percy, who is taking care of grandpapa?” 

“ I really don’t know; yo« sent for me, you know, my 
dear. Ah, by Jove! where is the boy and his nurse?” 

“ Have you not seen Wilson all this time, my lord ? For 
Heaven’s sake, go and look for my child!” 

“The child is with his nurse farther up the line,” Con- 
nor interposed. “ I will take you to them, my lord.” 

“ Thanks; you are very good,” he responded. 

Then turning to his wife: 

“You’ll be quite safe here, Edith, my dear, till I come 
back. Drew is looking after the traps. It’ll be all right, 
you know.” 

“Yes,” she assented indifferently. 

“My wagon is here, my lord,” Connor said as they 
moved away, “ and if your friend has received any in-, 
juries I shall have much pleasure in placing it at your 
service. The village is two miles distant; my farm is just 
half a mile from the depot; it would be the shortest dis- 
tance to have your friend conveyed, and Dr. Edwards can 
attend him there.” 

“ Ah, thanks; you are really very good, Mr. — a — a ” 

“ Connor D’Arcy.” 

“Then, Mr. Connor D’Arcy, I accept your kind offer 
for Sir Arthur; but what is Lady Riversrnede to do, my 
good sir? She could not walk two miles.” 


238 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


“ If she can sit in the wagon beside Sir Arthur, I have no 
doubt we can find a room for her ladyship at Butternut 
Farm.” 

His lordship made a grimace of comic horror. 

“ The Countess of Riversmede go in a wagon to a 
Western farmhouse — Jove!” bethought. 

But he answered good-naturedly: “Thanks; you’re 
awfully kind, but don’t you think it will be a great bother 
for you ?” 

“ Not at all. I see my father down there. I have no 
doubt he will ride at once t(tthe farm and tell the ladies 
that we are going to bring home company.” 

“ Awfully good of you — we must try to manage it some 
way. In a fix like this her ladyship must not be too 
fastidious'.” 

Connor bowed and turned his head aside to hide a 
smile as he wondered what her fastidious ladyship would 
think of the house in the valley and its inmates. Cer- 
tainly her mode of conveyance — a heavy country wagon 
— would not be very suitable for a lady. 

“Oh, my lord, the little Lord Arthur isn’t dead!” the 
nurse cried hysterically as they approached her. “ He 
opened his dear little eyes and smiled up at me, my lord, 
but he looks dazed like.” 

His lordship looked down into the face of his son and 
heir a little uneasily. 

“He looks very pale, doesn’t he, Wilson?” he asked 
apprehensively. “ But I suppose it’s all right — don’t 
understand much about children, you see. This — this gen- 
tleman,” with a swift glance over Connor’s person, “has 
kindly offered his conveyance to take us all to his house. 
You had better take the boy to the countess — she’s most 
awfully uneasy about him ; and look here, Wilson, tell her 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


239 


ladyship we are going to see about Sir Arthur, and — and 
ril be with her directly.” 

Fortunately Sir Arthur had not broken his leg, but 
his knee was severely injured and he had received a few 
bruises. 

To her husband’s intense annoyance. Lady Riversmede 
insisted on keeping her room until Sir Arthur should be 
sufficiently recovered to permit them continuing their in- 
terrupted railway journey to Philadelphia. 

Her ladyship’s nervous system had received a shock, 
but otherwise she was uninjured. 

“My dear Edith,” her husband expostulated one morn- 
ing, “wouldn’t it look better if you didn’t keep your 
room quite so much ? You have been here a week and you 
are better now, you know, and the doctor says the little 
fellow’s getting quite strong and Sir Arthur is getting on 
splendid. They — they have all been — er — er — very kind, 
you know. It looks so — so — er — overpowering,, always 
keeping your room like this; it’s deuced ugly, you see, 
receiving favors and — er — er — snubbing your entertainers; 
’pon my soul I hate to see you do it, Edith.” 

Her ladyship arched her delicate eyebrows in cold 
surprise. “ Really, Lord Riversmede, I am at a loss to 
understand what you expect me to do. I shall certainly 
remunerate these people for all the trouble they will be 
put to through me. I am quite sure that grandpapa will 
not leave without paying them handsomely. What more 
can they require from us? You nor cannot possibly 
expect that I will mingle in their amusements or eat at 
their table.” 

“Now, Edith, don’t be absurd ! I assure you they*are 
not the sort of people you seem to imagine. I will cer- 
tainly be surprised if they accept any remuneration from 


240 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


the Countess of Riversmede or Sir Arthur Cardlyon. They 
are not farmers. Mr. D’Arcy and his wife are here on a 
visit to his son, who owns this place — that splendid young 
fellow who brought us here, you know, and — and have 
you seen the ladies yet, Edith ?” 

“ Ladies ? No, decidedly !” a cold smile curving her lips ; 
“nor do I imagine that a Western farm, however good the 
soil, could produce such a rara avis. I certainly saw a 
young woman on my first arrival, in a white alpaca gown 
with black lace and blue velvet trimmings, who asked 
me if I should like some refreshments brought to me here, 
or if I should prefer joining the fam.ily when I had taken 
a bath. I remember thinking that her dress looked neat 
and cool, but I did not particularly notice the wearer.” 

“ Ah, that is Miss D’Arcy, my lady, a pretty, graceful 
gentlewoman.” 

Don’t ‘my lady’ me, for Heaven’s sake, my lord ! You 
remind me of Wilson or some of the menials at home.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Edith, but I am convinced that if 
you had taken a proper look at Miss D’Arcy you would 
have seen at once that she is all I say; and, by George! 
there are three of the prettiest women in this house that I 
have seen since coming to the States, and positively quite 
as well bred as — as — er — as yourself, Edith, my dear.” 

She regarded him with haughty surprise and scorn. 

“I bow to your verdict, my lord,” she retorted with 
fine irony. “ I believe it is generally conceded that 
Lord Riversmede is an indubitable authority in such 
matters.” 

Yet, notwithstanding her scorn. Lady Riversmede was 
piqued into seeing and judging for herself, and she sent 
a gracefully worded message to Miss D’Arcy to the effect 
that as Lady Riversmede felt quite recovered she would 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


241 


be very happy to join the family at dinner, and hoped her 
presence would be no inconvenience. 

In a few minutes Wilson returned with the answer: 
“Miss D’Arcy would be very happy. Lady Rivers- 
mede’s presence could only be a pleasure.” 

16 


Chapter 


“ To have met the joys of thy speaking face, 

To have felt the spell of thy breezy grace, 

To have lingered before thee, and turned, and borne 
One vision away of the cloudless morn." 

— Mrs. Hemans. 

“ Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears- a laden 
breast. 

Full of sad experience moving toward the stillness of his rest." 

L ord RIVERSMEDE, Mr. D’Arcy, and Connor 
were enjoying a lounge and a chat on the piazza, 
while up from the maple alley came the whiff of a 
genuine Havana, telling that Marmaduke Clifford was 
having a smoke a la solitaire. 

A soft breeze was stirring the vines and wafting rich 
odors past the three loungers, in through the open win- 
dows to the room beyond, where three ladies and a noble, 
patrician-looking old gentleman were seated. 

Sir Arthur Cardlyon was still a strikingly handsome 
man, very suave, very courteous, very haughty ; at present 
he was pale and languid, from recent pain and confine- 
ment. He reclined in a low cane chair, a soft cushion 
supporting his head; his injured limb, carefully swathed, 
rested on a pile of cushions. 

At a little distance sat the countess in a soft greenish- 
blue gown that fitted to a fault; rich old lace at her throat 
and wrists, yellow gleams from her broad gold bracelets, 
and the flash of a solitaire diamond on one long, slender 

242 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


243 


white hand, in which she held a fan of peacock feathers. 
Near one of the open windows Mrs. D’Arcy, in a creamy- 
white gown, gold bangles on her round white wrists, deep 
purple flowers, heavy with a subtle perfume, fastened in 
the lace at her throat, and a book lying open on her lap, 
was idly fanning herself as she talked in her soft, languid 
Southern tones to Sir Arthur. 

The third lady was Kate D’Arcy, also in white, a soft 
satin-like India muslin, her white fingers moving swiftly 
on a piece of exquisite lace-work. 

They made a pretty picture, the grand old man with his 
silvery hair and fine, high-bred face, and those three fair 
women with the sun falling in a long bar of gold on the 
polished floor, and the faintly stirring vines without cast- 
ing pretty, quaint shadows on its polished surface, shadows 
that 

“ Come tremulous with emerald-tinted gleams.” 

In another fortnight at farthest the harvest would be 
ready for the whirring, clattering reaping-machines, and 
there would scarcely be breathing-time for any of the 
workers and helps on the farm. 

But Connor had lost all pleasure in the wide-spreading 
fields of grain and rich pasture-land. 

What were crops and pastures to him as he gazed with 
gloomy eyes out over the valley ? 

He had gradually withdrawn, leaving his father and 
Lord Riversmede to continue their conversation alone, and 
was leaning over the balustrade with a sad, far-away look 
in his gray eyes, into which a new light suddenly flashed, 
a dusky flush overspreading his face. 

Three horses and three riders were sweeping down the 
valley at a rapid rate. 

No need to tell him the names of those riders. Denise 


244 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


and Teddy had been spending the last week with Lotta, 
and all three were now riding toward the house. 

He waved his straw hat to them, and with that happy 
light in his eyes and a faint flush lingering on his face 
went to meet them. 

“This is indeed a pleasure," he said as he assisted the 
girls to alight and bestowed a fervent hand-shake on 
Teddy, who declared he had been having a splendid time, 
a statement which his improved looks fully indorsed. 

Both girls were heated with their rapid ride, and pulled 
off their hats to fan themselves with as they ran past Con- 
nor into the house, and he, in the joy of seeing Lotta there, 
forgot to tell them that Sir Arthur Cardlyon and Lady 
Riversmede were in the drawing-room. 

Denise hurried Lotta along the wide, airy passage, 
threw open a door, and before they became aware of the 
presence of strangers, both girls were standing in the 
midst of the occupants of the quaint, wide, low-ceiled 
drawing-room. 

“We have come for just one hour. Aunt Kate," Denise 
cried gayly. 

“ Great heavens !" 

As that exclamation escaped the baronet’s white lips 
he suddenly sprang erect, his slender white hands grasp- 
ing the arms of his chair, his dark eyes, startled, intent, 
fixed on Lotta. 

Taken utterly by surprise, the two girls paused for an 
instant arm in arm, the sun glancing lovingly around 
them, their trailing skirts gathered up and held with negli- 
gent grace, their hats swinging carelessly by their sides, 
their shining hair tossed and tumbled, clinging in pretty, 
tangled masses to their white foreheads, a breezy negli- 
gence at once fresh and charming pervading their whole 
appearance. 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


245 


The silence scarcely lasted an instant; but in that one 
instant the baronet had recovered his graceful self-posses- 
sion, and sinking back in his chair with a deprecatory 
smile said languidly: 

“ I trust, ladies, that I have not startled you, or rather 
let me apologize for the suddenness of the exclamation 
wrung from me by pain. I did not imagine” — very sadly 
— “that physical pain had so weakened me.” 

“It is I, sir,” Lotta answered, in her sweet, clear 
tones, “ who should apologize for so unceremoniously 
entering the presence of an invalid; but my excuse, 
which I hope you will kindly accept, is that neither this 
young lady nor myself were aware that Mr. Connor 
D’Arcy’s guests were sufficiently recovered to leave their 
rooms.” 

The baronet's eyes glowed, his clear-cut lips twitched 
slightly as he listened. There was a tone, an echo of the 
past, in that sweet voice which took him back to the 
years that were gone, when a lovely girl with the face 
and form of this girl standing before him would come 
and lay her soft cheek against his, clasp her slender hands 
around his arm, and with pretty, childish audacity beg 
for some trifling, girlish favor. 

That girl had been his fairest, best-beloved daughter, 
on whose beauty he had built such brilliant hopes, and 
whom he had cast out from his heart and home forever 
when she by her one act of disobedience had doomed those 
hopes to disappointment. 

The momentary yearning, the momentary pain, called 
into life by that glimpse of the past died out as Lotta 
ceased speaking. 

“ Do not apologize, my dear young lady,” he said with 
gentle suavity, waving his white hand deprecatingly. 
“ You see, my little accident has made me weak and nerve- 


246 Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 

less; but I would not have foregone this pleasure, this 
charming little surprise, even at the price of a much 
greater pain. May I ask the favor of an introduction to 
your two lovely young friends. Miss D’Arcy?” with an 
irresistible smile to Kate, who instantly complied. 

“My niece, Denise D’Arcy, Sir Arthur Cardlyon.” 

That name fell on the ears of the two girls with singular 
distinctness; to Lotta it sounded as if a thousand elves 
took it up and mockingly repeated : 

“ Sir Arthur Cardlyon!” 

She wondered at her power of self-repression as she 
realized that for the first time she was face to face with 
the man whom she knew to be her grandfather, and felt 
that the recognition was mutual. 

She stood calmly, quietly dignified, watching his suave 
smile, listening to his gracefully worded apology for re- 
taining his seat; his clear, evenly pitched tones, his 
prettily uttered compliment. 

“Denise D’Arcy — a name just suited to one so bright 
and piquant as yourself, my dear young lady! Now, I 
beg you will not take offence at an old man for speaking 
his mind, for, you see, this,” touching his white hair with 
his white fingers, “ is my letter patent ; and let me venture 
to add, the sight of your fair young face has given me 
much pleasure.” 

Denise bowed gracefully and uttered a few words ex- 
pressive of her pleasure at seeing the baronet well enough 
to quit his room. 

Then he raised his eyes to the calm, proud face of 
Lotta, raised them with a cold, glittering, society smile, 
which hid his keen, anxious scrutiny. He had no fear of 
this girl claiming kinship with him, even should she know 
herself possessed of the right to do so. 

“ Miss von Rosenberg, Sir Arthur Cardlyon ; and let 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 

me add, Sir Arthur, a very dear and valued friend of 
‘auld lang syne. ’ ” 

“ Miss von — a — a ” 

“ Miss von Rosenberg, Sir Arthur!” Kate repeated, this 
time so distinctly that he could not again feign ignorance 
of the name. 

“ Thanks. Miss von Rosenberg, I am very happy to 
have met you. ” 

She bowed deeply, profoundly, and turned away to be 
introduced to the countess, and he sank languidly back 
with a faint sigh of utter exhaustion. 

The countess, who for an instant had been startled out 
of her frigid serenity, smiled graciously, slightly inclining 
her head in acknowledgment of the introductions. As 
Denise for the first time met the unsmiling eyes, looked 
upon the coldly statuesque face, there came back to her 
with overpowering distinctness the scene in the Mayfair 
drawing-room so long ago. 

She sees the rich velvet pile of the white carpet faintly 
flecked with gold, and delicate border of deep purple 
pansies, the great mirrors in which her shabbily dressed 
person was reproduced with such startling frequency, the 
costly furniture and hangings, the gleaming statues; 
nothing is forgotten, even to the ruddy glow of the bright 
fire and the beautiful bride-elect whom she now recog- 
nized in the Countess of Riversmede. 

The cold, the hunger of the dear ones at home, her own 
anguish and despair were all vividly before her in that 
swift, lightning-like flash of memory. 

There was no recognition in her ladyship’s glance. 

Denise D’Arcy, the pretty, refined-looking seamstress, 
was forgotten before she had well passed from the presence 
of Edith Cardlyon. 

But that sudden flash of memory, that picture from the 


248 


Connor D ' Arcy s Struggles. 


never-to-be-forgotten past, sent the eloquent blood for an 
instant from Denise’s bright face, and brought the flash 
of a tear into her clear gray eyes. 

“‘Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null,’ ” she 
murmured softly as she turned from her ladyship. 


Cbaptec fIV), 

“ Thus said the Duke — thus did the Duke infer.” 

— Richard III. 

“ I was one 

Who loved the greenwood bank and lowing herd, 

The russet prize, the lowly peasants’ life. 

Season’d with sweet content, more than the halls 
Where revellers feast to fever height. Believe me. 

There ne’er was poison mixed in maple bowl.” 

“AT AY I ask the favor of your company, Miss von 
I y 1 Rosenberg, while I rest in this cozy nook?” 

“ Certainly, Sir Arthur. I shall have much 

pleasure.” 

The still clear eyes of the baronet were turned with a 
swift, penetrating glance on the sweet young face of the 
girl beside him. 

“Thanks; you are very good. Few young ladies care 
to be troubled with the society of the old ; you appear to 
be one of the few.” 

“ I do not know. Sir Arthur. I have really had no ex- 
perience, but I think it might prove a very pleasant 
trouble.” 

“ A very surprising sentiment, truly, from the lips of a 
young lady in this progressive hineteenth century.” 

- “ I should not wish to believe so. Sir Arthur.” 

He smiled blandly, deprecatingly. 

249 


250 


Connor JD ' Arcf s Struggles. 


“ Will you lend me your arm? Thanks. You see my 
knee is still a little uncertain. Pardon me, I would sug- 
gest that you place yourself on this side; you will not 
then be exposed to the vertical rays of the sun. Now I 
think we can rest here quite comfortably.” 

A week had passed since the day on which Lotta had 
first seen her grandfather. The D’Arcys and their guests 
were having a picnic, and Sir Arthur, who was able to 
walk with the aid of his gold-headed cane, had graciously 
consented to make one of the party. 

They had chosen a spot of rare beauty near to, a lovely 
lake, surrounded by great trees and fairy glades opening 
out from the dim woods beyond. 

When they had alighted from the wagonettes. Sir Arthur 
seized upon Lotta in his suave, courteous way, declaring 
he would like a rest, and with slow deliberateness selected 
a pretty nook formed by the stumps of some young trees 
which had been sawn off some distance from the ground, 
and were now covered with leaves and mosses, while above 
all a maple tree spread out its branches. 

No one appeared to notice that those two had remained 
behind, and for a few minutes after the baronet’s last 
words there was perfect silence between them, with only 
the distant echoes of their companions’ voices and the 
soft rustle of the trees to disturb the solitude. 

Sir Arthur attentively scanned Lotta’s face, while she 
abstractedly watched the flickering shadows on the grass 
from sunlight and trees; but her eyes saw only that of 
which her mind took no heed. 

Her heart was filled with contending emotions, a great 
tenderness for and a fierce indignation against the man 
seated by her side. She knew that he had recognized in 
her his dead daughter’s daughter, and she was indignant 
that he should make no sign, ask no question, speak no 


Connor D 'Arcy's Stncggles. 


251 


word of tenderness to that daughter’s orphan child. Her 
heart went out to this grand-looking old man, her dead 
mother’s father, longing for one kind word, for one caress- 
ing touch of the thin, white hand, which she could have 
bent and reverently kissed when assisting him to his 
present seat ; but she would speak no word if he did not, 
and they would part as they had met — strangers. 

And while Lotta with swelling heart made that resolve, 
the baronet watched her with an approving glance, quite 
as much astonished as he was pleased by her exceeding 
grace -and perfect repose of manner. 

“ Where has she acquired all this good breeding ?” he 
asked himself. “ She has greater perfection of beauty 
than the countess, whom she undeniably resembles — more 
life, more expression, more vitality. This girl lives, the 
countess merely exists! 

“ If she is, as I believe, my granddaughter, her beauty 
is hereditary ; that and her grace come from the Cardlyons. 
But even natural grace must be perfected by cultivation 
in order to attain this degree of excellence, after the fashion 
of all rare plants. Weeds grow up rank and luxuriant 
without the aid of culture, but exotics — never. This must 
be the result of her mother’s teaching.” He was still in 
ignorance of his daughter’s death, and a sudden irresist- 
ible desire came to him to learn something of his beautiful 
Verra. 

But a new and startling fear arrested the words ere 
they could pass his lips. What if this girl should happen 
to have sisters less graceful than herself, or brothers, 
great, rough-looking fellows working on a farm? 

That thought made him shiver with actual horror. 
Lotta looked up startled. 

“I hope you have not taken a chill. Sir Arthur? It is 
not cold here,” glancing at the sweet green grass and its 


252 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


sunlit shadows; “at least I — I beg your pardon, perhaps 
you are cold; I quite forgot that you had been ill,” she 
said earnestly. 

“No, my dear,” he answered, with genuine kindness in 
tone and look, touched by her evident solicitude. “ I 
have not taken a chill, and really do not feel like being 
an invalid any longer. I have left all that behind 
me.” 

“I am very pleased to hear you say so. Sir Arthur.” 

He looked at her with a glance of keen scrutiny. 

“You are very kind, my dear young lady, to interest 
yourself in an old man. I know you could find more 
congenial society there,” waving his white hand gracefully 
in the direction which the others had taken, the sun send- 
ing a blinding flash from his diamond ring; “but I am 
very grateful, believe me.” 

“ I do not think you have anything to be grateful for. 
Sir Arthur. I like being here very much. I am so accus- 
tomed to look after my uncle’s comforts that this seems 
only a part of my duty and is very pleasant.” 

“ Your uncle’s comforts! Part of your duty! I — Ido 
not understand. Have I then been mistaken in thinking 
that your parents’ home is here?” 

“ My parents’ home, Sir Arthur, is, I humbly trust, in a 
happier land — a land where pride, ambition, and falsehood 
are unknown and where truth and fidelity receive their 
just reward.” 

He shrank away as if from a blow and put up one 
hand with a gesture of pain to his pallid lips. 

The haughty old man was strangely moved. 

Could the daughter he had loved and disowned, and 
who still seemed to live in this girl, be dead ? 

When he spoke again a faint thrill of pain still lingered 
in the high-bred tones. 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 


253 


‘‘Pardon my thoughtless question, my dear," he said 
gently. “ I am, as you know, quite ignorant of every- 
thing concerning your family. You and I, Miss von 
Rosenberg, seem to be quite old friends, and I am 
strangely interested in you. Will you excuse an old man’s 
curiosity if he ventures to ask you a question? You will? 
Thanks. You have just given me to understand that 
you are an orphan. Are you, then, alone in this Western 
settlement ? But perhaps you have some brothers — some 
sisters ?’’ suggestively. 

“ I have no brothers, no sisters. I was left alone in 
the world, and Heaven knows," she cried with passionate 
intensity, “ when I looked upon the dead face of my dear 
father, I would have thanked God with all my soul had 
he also taken me!" 

• Sir Arthur was both touched and startled by her vehe- 
mence. He had never heard so much real pathos and 
so much passion condensed in the utterance of a single 
sentence. 

Edith, Lady Riversmede, was incapable of such depths 
of affection as this girl’s tones evinced, and a strange 
desire that some one would mourn as deeply, as truly for 
him when he should be called away came to him. 

“ And your mother, did she die first ?” 

“ My mother died when I was a very little girl ; she 
followed her four little baby children, and papa and I 
were left alone. He never recovered the blow dealt him 
by her death, though he struggled to live and work for 
my sake; but if ever man lived on carrying with him a 
broken heart, that man was my dear father." 

The leaves rustled faintly, the lake murmured softly, 
the sun danced merrily on its placid bosom, but a si- 
lence had fallen on those two which endured for several 
seconds. 


254 


Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 


“ Had your mother no relatives who for her sake would 
have taken you to their home?” Sir Arthur inquired in 
strangely altered tones. “ But I think you spoke of an 
uncle — your maternal uncle, perhaps ?” 

“ No. My dear mother was disowned by her family be- 
cause she preferred the love of a good and honorable man 
to empty splendor and the false glitter of fashionable life. 
The uncle with whom I reside is the only brother of my 
father. This kind uncle stretched out a hand of welcome 
across the broad Atlantic to his dead brother’s child, the 
child whom he had never seen, took her to his heart and 
home, supplying all her wants with a lavish hand and giv- 
ing her a father’s love.” 

Sir Arthur was silent — it was not pleasant to hear this 
girl speak to him in this way; perhaps there was a little 
regret, a little self-reproach mingled with his indignation. 
He leaned back and just touched his lips with his filmy 
white handkerchief. 

A pretty yellow oriole in a chestnut-tree near by poured 
forth its song; there was no sound of voices or footsteps 
to disturb its melody. 

“Are you not a /////^unjust to your mother’s family, 
Miss von Rosenberg ?” 

His tones were hard, cold, clear. 

“ I think not. Sir Arthur.” 

“You can scarcely understand the distinction of classes 
if you do not realize that they may have had a right to 
consider themselves disgraced by her folly.” 

Lotta half sprang from her seat, but sank back instantly, 
her eyes flashing, a swift rush of hot, indignant blood 
sweeping up over her face. 

“ Pardon me. Sir Arthur,” she said proudly, “ if I refuse 
to have my parents discussed, even by you; but this much 
I will say, my father was a gentleman by birth and educa- 


255 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 

tion ; his love could disgrace no woman. He was, in the 
words of Pope, ‘An honest man, the noblest work of 
God.’ ” 

A faint flush crept into the baronet’s aristocratic face; 
somehow he could not quite persuade himself that he 
reached the poet’s standard. 

He was startled by Lotta’s audacity. No one had ever 
dared to speak to him like this before; but though his 
pride was ruffled, he admired her none the less that she 
honored her dead parents, and he regarded her with smil- 
ing interest. 

“Your mother’s name was ■” 

“ Verra Cardlyon !” 

“And you know that I am your grandfather?” 

“ I knew you to be my grandfather when I first looked 
on your face. Sir Arthur. I have a likeness of you which 
belonged to my dear mother. You were much younger 
when it was taken, but the likeness is perfect. It was a 
birthday gift from you to my mother.” 

“Will you let me see that likeness? Am I asking too 
much ?” 

“Certainly not! Your wish can easily be gratified, 
since I always wear the locket which contains your por- 
trait, because it also contains those of my parents.” 

She unfastened a locket from a fine gold necklet she 
was wearing and placed it in the baronet’s extended 
hand. 

“ Perhaps you will also favor me by opening it?” 

His face was very pale, and there was the faintest 
tremor in his well-modulated tones as he made that re- 
quest. She took it from him without a word. 

The locket was large and of the finest gold, not ornate, 
but simply exquisite; on one side was a cross, formed of 
a double row of small seed-pearls; on the reverse side the 


2s6 Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 

name, Verra, was engraved in old English letters. It 
opened with a double spring and had been made to 
hold four portraits. It contained but three — Sir Arthur 
Cardlyon’s, the Herr von Rosenberg’s, and his wife 
Verra’s. 

“This, you will see, is your portrait. Sir Arthur; these 
are the portraits of my parents.” 

He had regained his composure, and looked at all three 
with a serenely critical glance, then closing the locket, 
he returned it to her. 

“Thanks! Yes, I am changed since that likeness was 
taken ; my hair was not then white, but time changes all 
things, even a man’s hair, my dear young — Ah, by the 
way, you really are my granddaughter ! I never dreamed, 
when I conceived a most singular — I may say an irresisti- 
ble — desire to visit the States, and the Earl and Countess 
of Riversmede kindly agreed to accompany me, whom I 
should meet there. But does it not seem strange that 
you have not told me your name ?” 

“ Lotta, Sir Arthur ; my dear parents called me Lottchen, 
as does my uncle. ” 

The baronet frowned slightly and waved his white 
hand. “ Kindly oblige me by not indulging in retrospec- 
tion, my dear; it is not good form. I think, if I have 
your permission to express an opinion on your name — 
I have? thanks; then permit me to say that I consider 
the name of Lotta de-ci-ded-ly undignified. May I ask is 
there no other name, something more suitable for a young 
lady, by which your friends can address you ?” 

“ My name is Carlotta, Sir Arthur.” 

“Carlotta! Ah, that is better. Now, I have a propo- 
sal to make to you, Carlotta. I am perfectly satisfied 
with the justice of your claims, and ” 


Connof D'Arcy's Struggles. 


257 


“ I make no claims, Sir Arthur; I desire to make none.” 

He waved his hand, much as one would wave off a 
troublesome fly, and the diamonds flashed in Lotta’s 
eyes. 

“ One moment, if you please. I say that I am satisfied 
of the justice of your claims without demanding further 
proofs; you are my granddaughter. 

“ I may add, this is the first I have heard of your 
mother’s death. I am willing to overlook her disobedi- 
ence, to repair the past by taking you to the home which 
was once hers, and giving you all that she forfeited by 
her — er — er — folly. 4 

“You are fitted to shine in society — it is your proper 
sphere. You will outrival the Countess of Riversmede; 
your beauty and grace will win for you, as my grand- 
daughter, the best match in England. 

“ I have a grand old home to take you to. You shall 
have your mother’s dowry^ and more; all that I can will 
away from the others shall be yours. In return I ask only 
that you forget the past, that in future you hold no com- 
munication with the man whom you now call uncle or 
the people whom you now call your friends.” 

“And you are willing to do all this for me. Sir Arthur, 
and trust me^ if I forsake my uncle and friends?” 

She wondered at the calmness with which she asked the 
question, while her heart was swelling with indignation. 

“Is not that word ‘forsake’ just a trifle too strong? 
You are going away with me., going to the home to which 
you belong. I should not ask you to leave without having 
first repaid them for all they have done for you — certainly 
not. We Cardlyons never forget to repay our indebted- 
ness.” 

She lifted her eyes swiftly to his face, but he read some- 
17 


258 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


thing in their clear depths that did not please him, and 
he raised one white finger hastily. 

“ Do not answer me now,” he said. “ Take a little time 
to consider my proposal. Remember all that I have 
offered, all that I can bestow upon you; and realize, if 
you can, all that such a life would mean for you. Remem- 
ber also, please, that I will repeat this offer.” 


Chapter fflDIT. 


More beautiful she looked than flowers, 

When newly wet with heaven’s dew; 

Upon her face the sacred showers 
Of truth had fallen anew.” 

A ll around was silence and repose; overhead a fleecy 
white cloud floated dreamily across the deeply 
azure sky. Bees hummed their drowsy chant as 
they floated past in their light irregular course, a squirrel 
sprang into sight and darted up a tree, a rabbit scuttled 
out of its hole and stopped to nibble at the rank herbage, 
eying the pair in the little hollow suspiciously. A soft, 
low sigh stole through the branches, but the oriole still 
sang his song in the chestnut-tree. 

Lotta sat with folded hands and drooped eyelids. Her 
grandfather had requested her to take a little time to con- 
sider his proposal, but no amount of thought could change 
the nature of her reply, which would be the same years 
hence as now. 

Faith, which was dearer to her than life; friendship, 
the love of her dear, kind uncle — these were the precious 
gifts she would be called upon to relinquish if she accepted 
his offer. 

The price demanded was too heavy to pay. 

She had but to utter one little sentence, and, as if by 
magic, the whole current of her life would be changed. 
But as she sat there she gave no thought to the brilliant 
destiny which awaited her acceptance. 

259 


26 o 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 


She was praying Heaven with all her heart to direct 
her speech that the wording of her refusal should not 
anger this new-found relative, whose silvery hair appealed 
to her love and reverence — praying that no word of hers 
might thrust aside forever the olive branch of peace which 
he now held out to her. 

In a few days he would pass out of her life; in all 
probability they would never cross each other’s paths 
again; but he was her dear mother’s father, and her heart 
craved a place in his affections. 

All the anger and scorn with which she had listened to 
his suggestion of repaying with money the love and kind- 
ness which had been lavished upon her by uncle and 
friends had died out, and there was only a wistful sad- 
ness in her soul. 

What could this haughty aristocrat understand of her 
uncle, with ‘his large, warm heart and human sympathies, 
or of the D’Arcys ? 

The baronet was watching her from under his half- 
closed eyelids, but he was not quite prepared for her sud- 
den upward glance. He saw she was about to speak, and 
buckled on his armor of well-bred indifference to meet her 
•words. 

“Do not think me ungrateful. Sir Arthur,’’ she began, 
her sweet voice tremulous with emotion, “ if I say that I 
cannot accept your offer. I appreciate your goodness 
and fully realize all that such a life would mean for me. 
But I was alone in the world when my uncle gave me that 
which money cannot repay — a home and a father’s love. 
Like myself, he too was alone, having lost wife and 
children. 

“ I cannot repay his love and trust with ingratitude. I 
cannot forsake him for wealth or position. I have chosen 
my path, and. Heaven helping me, I shall follow it faith- 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


261 


fully to the end. I thank you most sincerely, Sir Arthur. 
How grateful I am you will never know, although I can- 
not conscientiously accept your offer. And oh, sir, let 
me beg that you will try to think kindly of me in the 
time to come.” 

“ This, then, is your decision ?” 

“My unalterable decision. Sir Arthur.” 

He was very pale, but he forced a smile to his lips. 

“ I may admire your fidelity,” he said suavely, “ although 
— pardon me — I cannot admire your taste. I hope you 
will never regret your decision. But if a time should 
come when you will no longer have a protector and I 
should be in existence, come to me.” 

Those words were not warmly or tenderly spoken, but 
they went straight to Lotta’s heart. 

Swiftly, impulsively, she stooped and pressed her lips 
gratefully to the baronet’s hand. 

“You are very kind to me, grandfather,” she responded 
with emotion, “ and I shall never forget what you have 
said.” 

She had called him “ grandfather” for the first time, 
and touched, in spite of himself, by that and her graceful 
action, he' turned hastily and looked away, just as Lord 
Riversmede and Mr. D’Arcy emerged from the wood and 
came toward them. 

“Here you are at last!” the former cried good-na- 
turedly. “ Edith’s been making no end of a bother over 
your mysterious disappearance. Sir Arthur; she thinks that 
Miss von Rosenberg and you have been carried off by 
some of the toll-taking gentry — ‘road-agents,’ I fancy 
they- call them ‘out West ’ — so we concluded to ‘scout 
around ’ in search of you. Been having a pleasant time. 
Sir Arthur? Awfully jolly place this for a rest. Miss von 
Rosenberg.” 


262 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


“It is lovely!” Lotta returned simply. “This spot 
will always be sacred in my eyes.” 

Sir Arthur looked at her with a gentle smile, and she 
knew that he at least understood her meaning. 

From the first Lord Riversmede had been struck by 
Lotta’s resemblance to his wife, and had taken quite an 
interest in her in his easy, pleasant way. But when Sir 
Arthur, with a graceful motion of his white hand toward 
Lotta, said in a matter-of-course tone: “I presume, 
Riversmede, you were not aware that this young lady. 
Miss von Rosenberg, is my granddaughter?” he looked 
at the speaker for an instant very much as if he thought 
that that gentleman had taken leave of his senses. True, 
the haughty old man was not given to jesting, and a 
glance at Lotta’s face dispelled his lordship’s momentary 
doubts of the baronet’s sanity. 

“By Jove, this is a surprise!” he exclaimed heartily, 
as he shook hands with Lotta. “Awfully glad, don’t 
you know. Saw the likeness just at once. Give you my 
word, you’re an out-and-out Cardlydn, Miss von Rosen- 
berg.” 

“You have my warmest congratulations. Miss von Ro- 
senberg,” Gerald D’Arcy said, extending his hand, aglow 
of pleasure suffusing his face. 

He knew how dear she was to Connor, and from the 
first had secretly cherished the hope of one day calling 
her daughter. 

They were all seated on the emerald grass at the foot 
of a great oak, with the sunlight filtering down through 
the leafy branches, quivering over the uncovered heads 
of the gentlemen and weaving pretty, fantastic patterns 
on the gowns of the ladies. There were the flash of crys- 
tal and silver, the snowy sheen of damask ; the odor of 
violets, the gleam of the sunlit lake, the music of birds in 


Connor D 'Arcy’s Struggles, 263 

the air, the buzz and whiz and whirr of insect life from 
the great dim woods beyond. 

Sara, in gay gown and scarlet ribbons, moved about 
like some bright tropical bird, her mahogany face all 
aglow with delight, a flashing, gleaming point of light 
wherever she appeared. 

Lady Riversmede had laid aside much of her frigid 
hauteur,^ and was smiling and talking to Connor on one 
side and Marmaduke Clifford on the other. Under the 
shadow of her wide-brimmed hat and drooping feathers, 
her face looked more soft and gentle; and a cluster of 
great yellow violets among the lace at her throat showed 
with a pretty effect against her dead blue gown — V eau de nil. 

Mrs. D’Arcy, Lotta, and Denise wore purple violets, 
and red columbines glowed warmly against a background 
of feathery-looking ferns at Kate’s white throat. The 
gentlemen also wore flowers, even to Sir Arthur, who had 
graciously permitted Lotta to fasten an exquisite combi- 
nation of fern-like mosses and great purple violets in his 
buttonhole. 

Listening to the even flow of his graceful conversation, 
looking at his handsome, animated countenance, no one 
would imagine that scarce one little hour before he had 
received one of the keenest disappointments of his life. 

There was the shadow of a great pain in Lotta’s eyes, 
which Connor was quick to perceive, and he knew that 
whatever had been said in the course of that half-hour’s 
tete-a-tete with her grandfather had brought it there. 

The D’Arcys one and all were charming entertainers, 
a fact which their guests appeared to recognize and ap- 
preciate. All coldness and constraint had vanished, and 
the pleasant hum of voices, with now and then a ripple of 
laughter, told that they were a very happy, very uncon- 
ventional party. 


264 


Connor D ’Arcy's Struggles, 


Then Lady Riversmede expressed a wish to visit the 
lake, and they strolled down to the water’s edge. 

“ Lotta, Lotta, come here quick!” Denise cried; “I 
have got such a pretty white rabbit in this hole.” She 
was kneeling on the grass, peering into a hollow in a tree 
trunk, too intent upon catching her prize to notice that 
Lotta and Teddy were some distance away. 

“ Let me assist you to secure your prisoner.” Denise 
turned quickly at the sound of that voice, sprang to her 
feet, and the white rabbit scampered off. Marmaduke 
Clifford was standing beside her, his hands filled with 
pond-lilies. 

“Please don’t trouble to follow him, Mr. Clifford,” she 
said hastily, as he turned to pursue the runaway. 

He looked regretfully at the flushed, annoyed fdce, 
which was instantly averted. 

“I am exceedingly sorry,” he said very humbly. 

“Oh, it does not matter; no doubt, poor thing, it will 
be much happier in the enjoyment of its freedom.” 

“ Possibly! It will be sufficiently stupid for that.” 

“ Or sufficiently wise ?” 

He laughed pleasantly. 

“ I will not contest the point; you know it is scarcely in 
good taste to contradict a lady. 1 have brought you these 
pond-lilies from the lake; I thought you would like them.” 

“They are very beautiful,” she said, blushing and hesi- 
tating, her gray eyes kindling with pleasure. 

She took them with a shy “Thank you,” and was 
moving away when he said : 

“ To-morrow I shall leave the valley and the friends I 
prize, and turn my face once more to the pine hills of 
Virginia; but the memory of this hour will be engraven 
on my heart. I will see you always as I see you now, 
with those lilies in your hands.” 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 265 

Her eyes were lifted with a swift, startled glance to his 
face, and averted hastily, but she was silent. 

They were standing near the lake, the red sun flooding 
the distant hills with a golden glory and touching with a 
farewell kiss the limpid bosom of the lake, the trees on its 
bank casting long shadows athwart its placid surface, 
while a balmy breath, fragrant and odorous, stole from 
the woods to where they stood. 

“Will you not wish me God-speed on my journey?” he 
asked, looking down on the averted face. “ It is hard to 
leave the Happy Valley.” 

“I wish you had stayed away!” she cried passionately. 
“Why did you come here ?” 

“You know why I came; it was because I loved you. 
Now I am going away because I still love you.” 

“ I told you long ago it was no use. Could you not 
have stayed away and spared me all this pain ?” she said, 
a quiver in the sweet voice. 

“ If my going away gives you pain, Denise, why will you 
not give me the right to be always near you ?” he pleaded. 

“ Because I could not live and endure your scorn, and 
because I know you would despise me,” she said, snatch- 
ing away the hand he had taken. 

He looked in utter surprise at the fair face flushing and 
paling, the pretty lips tremulous with repressed tears; at a 
loss to understand her, but more firmly than ever resolved 
to win her. 

“ You speak so strangely, Denise,” he said gently, “ that 
I fail to understand you. But believe me, my darling, 
no man ever yet despised a girl for loving him, and your 
love would be the greatest earthly boon that Heaven 
could ” 

She flashed round upon him with laughing deflance 
sparkling through tears in her beautiful eyes. 


266 Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 

“ I should certainly feel consoled by that assurance, but 
as I have never yet said that I have loved or do love, 
have cared or do care the least bit for you, Mr. Clilford, 
why you should assume that I do I cannot comprehend; 
but if I did care for you in that way, why should I refuse 
the honor you are so desirous of bestowing upon me ?” 

He flushed hotly at the tone and question, but he looked 
down steadily into the defiant face, as he stood towering 
above her in his superior height. 

It was, perhaps, only natural that Marmaduke Clifford, 
rich, handsome, cultured, should be just a trifle spoiled 
by the adulation and — it must be admitted — admiration 
to which he was so long accustomed. When he first 
made the startling discovery of his love for Denise, he 
had imagined, in his Icxrdly way, that she could not possibly 
decline the honor of becoming his wife; but she did de- 
cline, and very decidedly, too. 

Three hours later he quitted New York, disappointed, 
angry, mortified, with an aching sense of loss and loneli- 
ness at his heart, but determined never to see Denise 
D’Arcy again until he could prove to her that her rejec- 
tion of his suit had not cost him a single regret. 

He saw women — as he had often done before — many 
degrees more beautiful, women who had always a smile 
for him, who would gladly have shared his name and 
wealth; but somehow Denise’s truthful eyes with their' 
ever-changing expression were always haunting him, her 
sweet voice ever sounding in his ears, and after two years’ 
absence he was convinced that to him she was the one 
woman in the world worth winning. 

He was not a man to yield tamely; opposition only 
seryed to arouse within him the determination to conquer. 

“Suppose I leave that question unanswered,” he said, 
a smile creeping round his lips and eyes; “or answer it 


Connor D 'Arcy*s Struggles. 267 

with another — if you do not care for me just a little., 
Denise, why should my going away give you pain ?” 

She flashed a glance of indignant scorn at him, her face 
aflame. 

“ I did not think that you would be so mean and con- 
temptible as to use my words as a means of humiliating 
me. I thought you were too honorable for that, but I 
find that your code of honor is not a very exalted one 
after all." 

She turned and walked away, leaving him with flashing 
eyes and a dusky flush on his olive face. 


Chapter fflDITir, 


“ Let no one ask me how it came to pass ; 

It seems that I am happy ; that to me 
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, 

A purer sapphire melts into the sea." 

— Tennyson’s '' Maud ." 

F or an instant Clifford watched the graceful, girlish 
figure vanish fleetly through the trees; then he 
sprang after her and laid his hand upon her arm 
just as she was about to emerge into the pretty open 
glade where, under the shadow of the giant oak, they had 
all sat and dined. 

He would not let her go away angry with him ; he knew 
if he did that she would avoid him during the remainder 
of his stay. 

“ One moment, Denise!" he cried, “only one! I can- 
not let you go until you have pardoned me." 

She turned swiftly. 

“ How dare you follow and detain me like this, Mr. 
Clifford ?" she demanded haughtily. “ I thought a gen- 
tleman could understand when his presence was no longer 
desired." 

He did not release her arm, but stood looking down at 
the flushed, annoyed face. 

“You are indignant, I confess not without reason; but 
do you not think that you have punished me sufficiently 
by showing me how contemptible lam? Only say that you 
forgive me, and I will not detain you longer. Do not let 
me go away feeling that I have offended beyond pardon." 

268 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


269 


He looked so humble and penitent that she regretted 
her scornful words, but her pride rebelled against forgiv- 
ing him. 

“ I will forgive you the use you made of my words, Mr. 
Clifford,” she said coldly, “if you will please to release 
my arm — you are hurting me!” 

He complied instantly, bowing very low. 

“ Pardon me! and please accept my thanks for showing 
me what a savage I am.” 

She looked at him half amused, half indignant, then 
burst into a peal of laughter. 

“Yes, you really are a savage! Now are you satisfied, 
Mr. Clifford?” 

“I suppose I should be, if I were not very exacting; 
but let us conclude that I am satisfied, while I beg you to 
listen to me for one instant.” 

“Oh, please let us go to the others. Don’t let us be- 
gin talking about disagreeable things again!” 

He regarded her with flashing eyes, his handsome eye- 
brows contracting into a frown. 

“ Do you wish me to understand that I am disagreeable 
to you ?” 

“Certainly not, Mr. Clifford; papa’s friends are never 
disagreeable to me.” 

“Denise!” he cried passionately, “tell me that you 
wish me to go away, that my presence annoys you, and I 
shall leave you forever and never trouble you again, so 
help me Heaven!” 

All the color died out of her face; she looked at him 
with troubled eyes. 

“But I shall not tell you to go away; I do not desire 
that you should — though perhaps,” a little wistfully, “it 
would be better so.” 

He bent forward, an eager light in his eyes. 


270 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


“Denise! I warn you I am not a man to be trifled with, 
and I will not leave you until you give me a proper explana- 
tion ; you owe me that at least. If there is another whom 
you prefer to me, you are cruel not to tell me so; but if 
you are free, why will you not let me try to win you ?” 

“Because,” she replied, with an evident effort to speak 
calmly — “because I know how proud and sensitive you 
are. Do you think I can ever forget all you said that 
day, long ago, when we were crossing the river at Beech- 
ville, about the poor girl whom you heard sing on the 
streets of London ? It convinced me then how merciless 
you could be in your judgments, and it convinces me now 
that if you were made acquainted . with one act of mine in 
the past, your love for me would be changed into con- 
tempt.” 

She spoke bravely, but she was very pale; her eyes 
were clear and proud, but dark with emotion. 

His face flushed, his eyes flashed open with something 
like horror as he retreated a step ; but as he met her 
glance the flush disappeared ; he stretched out both hands 
and moved swiftly to her side. 

“Tell me what it is that you mean, Denise! I will not 
believe that you could do anything unworthy. I could trust 
you unreservedly with what is dearer to me than life — my 
honor!” 

“Perhaps, when you know ^r//,” she answered quietly, 
not touching his outstretched hands, “you will think I 
have done something very unworthy; but since I have 
said so much I will tell you all, and your verdict shall 
decide between us. You will please to remember, Mr. 
Clifford, that you have forced this confidence from me, 
and you will strive to respect it, even should you be dis- 
appointed in your estimate of me.” 

“I give you my word of honor that any confidence 


•Con 7 ior D'Arcy's Struggles^ 271 

with which you may favor me will be most sacred to me; 
but first let me say, if the recital will give you pain, spare 
yourself, since I have all trust in your goodness and truth. 
Forget that you were going to tell me anything. I desire 
to know nothing of your past, convinced that you could 
never lend yourself to anything for which a modest girl 
should blush.” 

She raised her head with a haughty gesture, her clear 
eyes meeting his unflinchingly. 

“I wish you fo understand distinctly, Mr. Clifford,” she 
said proudly, “ that I am not ashamed of the act to which 
I allude; nay, should a like necessity again occur, I do 
not hesitate to affirm that I should most inevitably repeat 
it. I cannot accept your very generous confidence in my 
goodness; for I know that just as surely as I would take 
advantage of such unreserved trust, so surely, after a 
time, you would begin to doubt me, and end by imagining 
something very dreadful. I could not live under misap- 
prehension; so if you care to listen I will tell you, and I 
am sure that when you hear what I have to say you will 
confess that I am right in saying it would be better for 
you to go away and think no more about me.” 

“You might just as well tell me to raise my voice and 
command the sun to stand still. In both cases the effect 
would be much the same — the sun, unheeding my presump- 
tuous command, would go serenely on his course, and I 
would go on loving you and thinking of you. But if 
you prefer to make me acquainted with this incident in 
your past, I shall feel honored by your confidence; yet 
let me assure you that nothing which you can tell me 
could have power to change my love for you. To me you 
will ever be the best, the truest, the dearest girl on earth!” 

“Ah!” she breathed sadly, “you would not feel like 
that toward me if you knew that /, Denise D’Arcy, am 


272 


Connpr D'Arcfs Struggles. 


the girl you so cruelly condemned — the girl you heard sing 
before the Albany that bitter February afternoon.” 

For a moment her words seemed to take his breath 
away. His face went deathly pale, then flushed a dusky 
red. The next instant he came a step nearer to her, a 
great tenderness shining in his eyes. 

“Tell me all, Denise,” he said gently. 

She did not look at him. She was pale and trembling 
now, the pride which had hitherto sustained her all gone. 
Leaning for support against the bole of a tree, she told 
her story simply, unaffectedly, in low but clear tones. 

“ I dare scarcely hope that you will pardon me,” he said, 
very humbly, very contritely. “ I spoke heartlessly, in- 
considerately. My words must have sounded brutal in 
your ears, as they did in my own when Miss D’Arcy so 
eloquently defended the unknown singer and administered 
such a well-merited rebuke on my insolence. From my 
soul, Denise, I implore your forgiveness.” 

“It is granted, Mr. Clifford,” she answered quietly. 
“And now, if you please, we will return to the others.” 

“Stop a moment!” he pleaded hastily. “You said 
that when you had told me all my verdict should decide 
between us. Am I not right ?” 

“You are right,” she faltered. 

“Denise,” he said gravely, tenderly, “let me assure 
you that that heroic act of yours has raised you in my 
estimation a hundredfold. I loved you before with all 
my heart ; you are now, my fair cantatrice, more precious 
in my eyes than rubies and diamonds — a pearl above 
price.” 

Mr. Clifford did not start on his homeward journey next 
morning. After breakfast he had a long interview with 
Mr. D’Arcy, who had the satisfaction of learning that the 
dearest wish of his heart was about to be realized : Denise 

i8 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 273 

had promised to become the wife of Marmaduke Clifford, 
and her father gladly, proudly gave his consent. 

Every one was pleased, Connor more especially, and so 
it was settled. 

In a few days their guests would take their departure; 
after which it was decided that Denise would accompany 
her father and step-mother to New York, where in three 
months the marriage was to take place. 

Kate’s fears and anxieties were set at rest when Denise 
told her of the explanation she had had with her fia^ic^. 

Lotta was to be bridesmaid, and Mrs. Felix Rooney, 
who was then in Italy, in a little congratulatory note 
promised to be present on the happy occasion. 

Judging from her letters, Eva was happy and had no 
thought beyond the gayety of the present moment. 

Denise often wondered how she found time to write the 
long letters which she so unfailingly sent her — letters filled 
with glowing accounts of the brilliant scenes in which she 
mingled and of the places which she visited. 

It was the third morning after the picnic. Lotta was in 
the poultry-yard surrounded by a feathered flock cackling 
and cooing as they darted hither and thither excitedly 
after the grain which she was scattering about for them. 
Oscar was standing gravely by her side, a basket of snowy 
eggs held firmly in his teeth. 

“Ah, Oscar, bad dog! what are you doing?” she cried, 
in sudden alarm, as he dropped the basket at her feet 
with a precipitancy that threatened the utter ruin of its 
contents, and barked sharply, to the evident terror of the 
fowls. 

“ Now, Oscar, you shall not come here another morning 
if you behave so badly.” But Oscar had disappeared with 
another sharp, joyful bark. 

“If you please, ma’am, there’s a gentleman wants to 


274 Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 

see you,” Dan said, appearing at this juncture in evident 
excitement. 

“A gentleman!” Lotta repeated, in some surprise. 

“Yes, ma’am; one of the gentlemen from Butternut 
Farm and Mr. Teddy.” 

She was startled, but instantly recovered herself. 

“Just see if Oscar has smashed those eggs,” she said 
quietly; “if not, take them in at once to Mrs. Morgan.” 

Then she passed into the shrubbery and came face to 
face with Sir Arthur Cardlyon and Teddy, who was being 
joyfully welcomed by Oscar. 

“Sir Arthur!” she cried almost breathlessly. 

There was no embarrassment, only pleased surprise in 
her face as she extended both hands. 

“ This is very kind of you. Sir Arthur. I did not expect 
this pleasure.” 

“ My young friend here has driven me over. I thought 
I should like to see your home,” he replied, taking her 
hands in his with a pleased smile. 

She greeted Teddy cordially, then led the way into the 
house, and gave her long tan gloves and hat to Malinda, 
who came to meet her, before passing into the cool, shady 
dining-room. 

With an air of easy dignity she drew a chair into one of 
the open windows for Sir Arthur, who watched her move- 
ments with a low, regretful sigh ; she looked so cool and 
graceful in her white gown, with a cluster of fragrant 
carnations at her throat. 

They talked pleasantly for some time, and Teddy, feel- 
ing that he was de trop^ availed himself of the first break 
in the conversation to make a hasty apology and join 
Oscar out-of-doors. 

“ Carlotta,” the baronet said quickly as Teddy disap- 
peared, “ I desire you to tell me truly if you are happy 


Connor D *Arcy*s Struggles. 


275 


here. Do not through a mistaken sense of duty and grati- 
tude ruin all your future life, but tell me unreservedly, 
can I assist you in any way ?” 

She looked at him through blinding tears. 

“Dear grandfather!” she said gently, “I cannot find 
words in which to thank you for the interest you take in 
me. If anything could add to my happiness it is this, but 
I would indeed be most ungrateful to the best, the kindest 
of uncles if I were not happy. There is one favor that I 
would ask of you: it is that when you are far away, when 
you have returned to those who have so long enjoyed your 
affection, you will try sometimes to spare a kind thought 
for the granddaughter who will always remember you in 
her distant home.” 

She sank upon her knees beside him, and rested her 
head on the arm of his chair to hide the tears that would 
flow. 

“You are a noble girl, Carlotta,” he said, touching her 
hair with a tender, caressing hand, “ and — yes, I will con- 
fess I regret deeply that I have lost such a treasure. But 
remember what I have already said to you : if you should 
regret this decision, or if anything should occur — you un- 
derstand — while I live my home shall ever be open to you, 
ever await your coming.” 

She was too much overcome to speak ; but she kissed 
his slender hand, and the tears which she could not re- 
strain fell upon it. Through all the coming years of her 
life, Lotta would remember this morning. 

They talked long and earnestly. At the end of an 
hour, to Lotta’s surprise Sir Arthur asked to see her 
uncle. She knew that just then he was engaged with his 
foreman, but she sent for him, delighted to have been 
asked. 

She watched the meeting of the two men, a smile of 


2J6 


Co7mor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


pleasure curving her proud lips. The baronet had laid 
aside his Muteur for the time being; for Lotta’s sake he 
had determined to be amiable to the man who had been so 
kind to her. But despite his pride and preconceived prej- 
udices he was favorably impressed, and was soon con- 
versing unrestrainedly with Mr. von Rosenberg, to w’hom 
in the course of conversation he spoke of the offer which 
he had made his granddaughter and her rejection of it. 

For an instant a suspicious moisture gathered in Mr. 
von Rosenberg’s clear blue eyes as they turned upon 
Lotta. 

“My Lottchen is good and true,” he said with emo- 
tion. “ She knows the poor old uncle has no one else to 
care for him in all the world; while you. Sir Arthur, have 
many.” 

He saw that this haughty old man was deeply disap- 
pointed; that notwithstanding his suave, courteous manner, 
Lotta’s refusal of his offer had pained him exceedingly, 
and he looked at her proudly, knowing all she had relin- 
quished for his sake. 


Chapter fflDIFinr, 


“ Life is only bright when it proceedetH 
Toward a truer, deeper life above ; 

Human love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect love.” 

— A. Procter. 

“ Every noble life leaves the fibres of it interwoven forever 
in the work of the world.” — Ruskin. 

L OTTA’S visit to New York terminated a few weeks 
after Denise’s marriage; she knew that her uncle 
would feel lonely during her absence, and she was 
right. He was overjoyed when she wrote telling him she 
longed to return, and he gladly hastened to New York to 
bring her home. 

Denise and her husband had gone to their handsome 
Virginia home. 

Mr. and Mrs. Felix Rooney had returned to Europe, 
intending to winter in Rome. 

To the delight of every one, Teddy was becoming quite 
strong and had decided upon entering the Church. 

At first Mr. D’Arcy had opposed that wish, but seeing 
that his opposition was likely to affect Teddy’s health and 
spirits he at length gave his sanction, and Teddy was 
made happy. 

Kate and Connor had returned to the valley, and their 
lives had fallen back into their former grooves; but Con- 

277 


278 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


nor had lost all interest in his pursuits, and all through 
the winter months he fluctuated between the desire to sell 
the farm and return to Europe or to remain. 

He had striven to overcome Lotta’s resolution, but she 
could not be convinced that she was not in some way 
accountable for Bertie Haviland’s untimely death. 

“ What right have I to be happy ?” she would reply to 
Connor’s entreaties. “But for me, poor Bertie Haviland 
would not now be numbered among the dead! It is the 
only manner in which I can atone. Do not urge me, 
Connor.” 

How empty the world seemed to Connor as he passed 
from her presence and from the house! 

At a turn of the road he came face to face with Mr. 
von Rosenberg. 

"" Ach! this is a pleasure,” the latter cried heartily. 
“ Been to see mein Lottchen ? ” 

The hopeless expression on Connor’s face arrested the 
words on his lips, and he looked at him with a glance of 
blank surprise for an instant. 

“ What is it, my young friend?” he inquired anxiously. 
“You look troubled. You are unhappy. What has hap- 
pened ?” 

“You are right, Mr. von Rosenberg. I am unhappy,” 
Connor responded honestly. “ You know how I love 
Lotta. I have sought and obtained your permission to 
win her; but while admitting her love for me, she is 
deaf to all my pleadings. I cannot remain here. I am 
restless and miserable and shall sell out and leave the 
States.” 

“ Ach^ nein^ that must not be, my young friend. I 
shall speak to my Lottchen. She shall not spoil her own 
life and yours because of a foolish feeling over Bertie 
Haviland’s death.” 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


279 


While they were still talking Father Burke joined them, 
and Mr. von Rosenberg at once explained. 

“You see,” he burst out, “my Lottchen with her scru- 
ples on the matter of young Haviland’s death is going to 
make herself and everybody else miserable.” 

“She is morbid on that subject,” the good priest re- 
sponded. “ I have frequently striven to remove her scru- 
ples — scruples which would never have entered the mind 
of one less sensitive and refined. I believe her nerves 
have never recovered their healthy tone since the shock of 
the tragedy ; but I promise to do all I can, as her spirit- 
ual director, to help you.” 

Lotta stood by the parlor window, gazing thoughtfully 
out and seeing nothing but the universal whiteness of the 
garden and the snow-covered landscape beyond, now 
bathed in the level sunshine of the afternoon. 

While she stood thus, 

“ Telling her memories over 
As you tell your beads,” 

the jingle of sleigh-bells sounded on the clear, crisp 
air. 

Speeding along the road came a sleigh, at sight of 
which a lovely blush overspread her face. 

She had recognized Red Prince, Connor’s favorite horse, 
and the muffled figure ensconced in the sleigh. 

She watched until it passed through the open gateway 
and swept up to the door. 

Then she went to meet Connor with quickened pulses, 
wondering at his coming. 

He had thrown aside his muflflings and turned quickly 
at the sound of her light step. 

“It is good of you to come!” she said, giving him her 
hand. “Is Squire Haviland better?” 


28 o 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles, 


“ Yes, the squire is out of danger and will soon be able 
to return home.” 

“Ah, thank Heaven! that is good news!” she said, 
leading the way into the warm parlor and pushing forward 
a rocking-chair beside the glowing fire for her visitor. 
“Uncle has gone with the foreman to see Jacob Potter; 
the poor old man is laid up with a severe attack of rheu- 
matism. How pleased uncle will be to hear that the squire 
is out of danger!” 

Connor did not take the chair which she had placed for 
him, but stood looking down upon her. 

She paused confused and turned aside. 

“ I have had another letter from grandfather,” she said 
hastily, “ such a kind letter. He wishes me to go to Eng- 
land next summer and spend a few months at Ludleigh 
Hall.” 

“ And you will go ?” he asked very quietly. 

“ Oh, no, I could not leave uncle; but it is very kind of 
Sir Arthur, you know, Connor.” 

“Lotta,” he said, following her to the window, “there 
is something I want to say to you, a proposal I desire to 
make. I have come to you to-day — it is for the last time, 
remember — that you may decide my future. Listen to 
me patiently, Lotta dearest, and do not say you cannot 
do that. I have your uncle’s sanction to speak to you, 
and it rests with you alone whether I remain here perma- 
nently or sell out and leave America forever.” 

“Oh, Connor!” she pleaded, with pale lips and startled 
eyes, “do not say that! What would Miss D’Arcy do if 
you should go away?” 

“You think more of her happiness than of mine,” he 
said bitterly. “But Duke and Denise are both most de- 
sirous that she should reside with them; and there is my 
father’s home ever open to receive her, if she should 


Connor D'Arcfs Struggles. 


281 


prefer residing with him and Mrs. D’Arcy. I came here 
to speak to you on what most intimately concerns ourselves : 
why will you sacrifice the happiness of our lives to this 
foolish sentiment? If a man becomes a murderer, you 
are in no way responsible for that man’s crime. We 
might just as reasonably take the crimes of all the world 
upon our shoulders, and go about doing penance for 
the rest of our lives. Heaven made you instrumental in 
bringing this young man into the fold of the Church; but 
that is no reason why you should offer yourself up as a 
sacrifice for the sin of another. You say you love me, 
Lotta; promise to become my wife, and I vow to build a 
church to Bertie Haviland’s memory.” 

She stood gazing out on the white snow with a piteous 
look in the clear eyes, never once glancing at the dark, 
handsome face so eagerly bent toward her. 

He saw the clasping and unclasping of the slender, 
white hands, the vain efforts she made to speak ; and he 
waited patiently. At length she turned and laid her hand 
upon his arm. 

“I cannot tell you, Connor, how grateful I am to you,” 
she said gently, “but although Father Burke has striven 
to show me that I was not to blame — and. Heaven knows, 
I never gave either poor Bertie or his murderer encourage- 
ment — yet I cannot divest myself of the feeling that 
through me he lost his life. If I have been the cause of 
pain to you, Connor, forgive me, for though you are more 
to me than all the world I cannot do what you ask me, 
and I cannot leave my poor uncle; it would break his 
heart.” 

“ I will never ask you to leave him, Lotta. Do not 
send me away with this answer if you really care for 
me.” 

“ I cannot give you any other, Connor, indeed I cannot!” 


282 Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 

“And thus ends the one dream of my life!*’ he said 
bitterly. 

The storms and snows of winter were past. 

Connor and Kate were still at the valley, but there 
was a rumor that Butternut Farm was again for sale, and 
Lotta, dreading to hear the rumor confirmed, never alluded 
to it in Kate’s presence. 

The season had been very late, but now the work of 
nature and of man was being pushed forward with energy. 
It was scarcely a time at which to expect visitors, and 
Lotta was both surprised and pleased when, in the first 
week of June, she saw Squire Haviland approaching the 
house. 

He had scarcely taken a seat when her uncle entered, 
and a meaning glance passed between the two men as 
they exchanged greetings. 

Since the loss of his son the squire had aged visibly. 
He had become thin and bent, his pleasant, rugged face 
was deeply lined, and his bluff good-nature had given 
place to a subdued earnestness. Lotta watched him with 
a feeling of pain as he talked to her uncle. 

After a time the conversation turned on Butternut 
Farm. 

“I don’t like to think of it passing into other hands,” 
the squire said, and at the words Lotta suddenly paused 
in the act of pouring out a cup of tea, the light fading 
from her face. 

“He’s done a heap of good every way you take it,” 
pursued the squire. “ He’s a credit to the county, and 
I’ll be main sorry when he goes away. I’ll never forget 
that I owe my life to Connor D’Arcy — not that the same 
life’s worth much now, but then, you see, he came near 
losing his own life that day last February when he went 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 


283 


down into the gully and fetched me out of the snowdrift. 
It was a dreadful day that. If I had taken the wife’s ad- 
vice I wouldn’t have gone out that day; after my spell 
of illness it wasn’t the thing to do, but the snow didn’t 
commence till I was some distance from the house. It 
didn’t promise to be much at first, and I thought I would 
get all right to Carter’s before there was any danger. All 
of a sudden the snow came down so thick and blinding 
that everything became black before me. I turned my 
horse to go home again, but I must have got confused 
and lost my way. I remember the horse standing still. 
I tried to coax him on; he went a little way; then all at 
once he stumbled and threw me. I heard the muffled 
sound of a human voice shouting to me; I tried to shout 
back but could not. Then I felt myself falling down, 
down, down, rolling over in the soft snow, which gave 
way as I strove to clutch it. I knew no more until I woke 
up at Butternut Farm and saw that bright, pretty crea- 
ture, Miss D’Arcy, sitting beside my bed, and everything 
looking so warm and cheerful around me. 

“ Since we lost our poor boy life is no longer of value 
to me; but I am not ungrateful, and I know that I owe 
young D’Arcy a debt I can never repay. If I had been 
their own father they could not have been more tender 
and kind to me; they nursed me back to life. I think 
I was more sorry than glad when I was well enough 
to go home and didn’t need to stay at the valley any 
longer. 

“When Miss D’Arcy would leave me for an hour 
Connor would come and sit beside me, and we used to 
talk about everything. I saw he was in trouble, and I 
kind of guessed what was wrong; and as I’m a plain 
man, my dear,” turning to Lotta and taking her hand in 
his, “ I put the question plainly to him and he honestly 


284 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 


told me his trouble. You remember, my dear, that I 
promised poor Bertie you should be to me as my own 
daughter; that promise has brought me here to-day. It’s 
good of you to think so much of my poor boy. It isn’t 
every girl that would refuse young D’Arcy; he’s a fine, 
handsome young fellow. Though I couldn’t give him 
Bertie’s place in my heart, I have come to like him 
better than I ever thought to like any man again. It’s a 
pleasure to hear his voice, to see his fine, manly figure, 
to look in his honest, straightforward eyes. If he’s a bit 
proud, you feel he is true to the core; that’s the true grit 
for a man; every man has a right to value himself at just 
what he knows he’s worth, and I reckon young D’Arcy’s 
very properly proud of himself. 

“ Now, my dear, I want you to be happy. There is no 
use spoiling your life and his; it won’t bring our Bertie 
back, and if all the preachers tell us is true, he’s where 
he’ll know all about your goodness now, and he’ll be 
pleased to know that you’ll be happy. I have a right to 
a say in this matter, and I’ll never know peace till I see 
you young D’Arcy’s wife. What do you say, friend von 
Rosenberg ?” 

The squire leaned back as he concluded, still holding 
Lotta’s hand. 

“I say you are right, squire. A few short years at 
most, and I will be called away and mein Herzliebchen be 
left all alone!- She has refused wealth and splendor to 
stay with her old uncle, and I will not repay her by mak- 
ing her life miserable when I am gone. I shall die hap- 
pier for the knowledge that I am leaving her the wife of a 
good man. Nay, thou must not speak, mein Kind^ for / 
say, unless thy heart says against it, thou shalt in 
another month become the verlohte — betrothed — of Connor 
D’Arcy, with my blessing.” 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 


285 


“But, uncle, I feel that I should not; indeed, indeed, 
I do not want to leave you, and surely you cannot desire 
to send me away!” she said with a faint smile. 

“ Ach ! gut^ no more, mein Herz. While I live we shall 
not be separated; but it must be as I say. Think it well 
over to-night; to-morrow I will go to see the young 
man.” 

“Your hand upon that, friend!” the squire cried, 
extending his hand, and Mr. von Rosenberg heartily 
responded. 

“ Now, my dear, that that is settled, I will take my cup 
of tea,” the squire said, kindly patting Lotta’s hand before 
releasing it. 

As she turned to the table. Father Burke drove up to 
the door in his buggy. 

“Good-evening, and God’s blessing be here,” the good 
priest said in his bright, cheery way. “ I see I am just in 
time for a cup of my favorite beverage. Glad to see you 
able to go about again, squire. Don’t disturb yourself. 
Miss von Rosenberg — I’ll just take this chair.” 

He shook hands cordially with every one and took a 
chair near the squire, with whom he had become some- 
what friendly of late. 

The conversation turned on various topics of interest, 
and it was not until Lotta left the room to fetch some 
newspapers which she had just received from England 
that Father Burke was made acquainted with what had 
preceded his coming. 

The prospect of Connor D’Arcy leaving the valley had 
for some time been a source of infinite regret to Father 
Burke, and his feelings of relief and satisfaction were in- 
tense when he learned that in all probability he would 
remain. 


286 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles, 


He was heartily glad; his influence had done much, 
and he felt that in some measure he had been instrumental 
in vanquishing Lotta’s scruples. 

When, an hour later, in company with Squire Haviland, 
he drove away from Fall Farm, the good priest was highly 
elated. 


Chapter 


“ Death ends all tales, but this he endeth not ; 

They grew not gray within the valley fair 
Of hollow Lacedsemon, but were brought 
To Rhadamanthus of the golden hair. 

“ Beyond the wide world’s end ; ah, never there ' 

Comes storm nor snow ; all grief is left behind. 

And men immortal, in enchanted air, 

Breathe the cool current of the Western Wind." 

— Lang’s Helen of Troy." 

M rs. FELIX ROONEY had returned from Europe 
to find herself at once acknowledged as society’s 
queen. Her pathway was strewn with the roses of 
life; her beauty and wealth, her grace and “chic,” her 
brilliant entertainments took the Hite of New York by 
storm. 

Her horses were the finest English thoroughbreds, her 
dress and jewels were pronounced perfect by the most 
severe critics; she was the admired of all, the envied of 
many. 

Old Barney Rooney had fulfilled his part of the con- 
tract ; and within thirty miles of the Empire City a noble 
residence was being erected. 

The Old World as well as the New contributed its share 
of skilled labor to the erection of this lordly pile. 

English and Italian decorators were specially engaged 
to beautify Mrs. Felix Rooney’s suite of apartments. 

287 


288 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


Old Barney was proud of his daughter-in-law, and well 
content to live in the reflected glory of this brilliant planet 
which had suddenly burst upon the fashionable horizon. 
She was Felix’s wife. She had the world at her feet. 
She was a D’Arcy, and far outshone Gerald D’Arcy’s 
young wife: what more could his heart desire? 

Ah, yes, there was something more, something which 
he longed for — something which all Barney’s wealth could 
not purchase. There was a little Gerald D’Arcy at the 
D’Arcy mansion, but there was no little Rooney to hand 
down that illigant patronymic to posterity. 

If he had not returned to the States a gentlemanly Felix 
Rooney’s travels in Europe had taken the sharp edge off 
his vulgarity and lessened his conceit. 

His clothes, boots, and gloves were ultra fine, and the 
fashionable swagger which he had acquired gave ton to 
his drawl. 

In his wife’s presence there was about Felix Rooney an 
air of conscious inferiority which was painfully apparent 
to all. 

And it is just possible that Mrs. Felix had succeeded 
in impressing her husband with a due sense of his unwor- 
thiness and of her great condescension in becoming his 
wife. 

He followed her about like a spaniel, and rendered her 
a silent but none the less profound worship; for Mrs. 
Felix objected to any display of affection, merely tolerat- 
ing his presence as a necessary adjunct to the matrimonial 
contract. She was willing to spend his wealth, to wear his 
jewels, to grace his home, to give him a social status; but 
there her recognized duties ended. 

Felix Rooney was not a man to inspire love in the heart 
of a refined and cultured woman; but under ordinary 
circumstances he might have made a good-enough husband 


Connor D'Arcy's Struggles. 289 

for any sensible young woman in the rank of life from 
which he sprang. 

To do her justice, Eva had never deceived him. 

She had told him in her straightforward way that she 
did not love him and never should ; and that if she became 
his wife it would only be on certain conditions. Heartless 
she decidedly was, but not untruthful, and if he was dis- 
appointed in the result he had nobody but himself to 
blame. 

Eva at least seemed to thoroughly enjoy every hour of 
her life, and drank deeply at the fountain of pleasure. 

Seeing her thus feted and worshipped, witnessing her 
social triumphs, Gerald D’Arcy never doubted but that 
Eva was happy in the choice she had made, and after a 
time came to regard her marriage as, on the whole, highly 
satisfactory. The preparations for her summer campaign 
were all completed, and Mrs. Felix was on the point of 
taking her departure for Newport, when she received a 
letter from Kate announcing Connor and Lotta’s be- 
trothal and the date fixed for their marriage. 

The perusal of that letter changed all her plans. 

She countermanded her orders for Newport, telegraphed 
to her Parisian modiste an order for a suitable dress to 
wear at her brother’s wedding, and arranged to start West 
the following week wdth her father and Mrs. D’Arcy. 

When all her arrangements had been made she intimated 
her intention of visiting her aunt and brother to her aston- 
ished husband, who, never having presumed to question 
her royal will, meekly responded that he would be ready 
to accompany her. 

They were met at the country way-station by Connor 
and Marmaduke Clifford. 

Mrs. Felix Rooney greeted both young men raptur- 
ously. 


19 


290 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


“ It is so good to have two big brothers!” she cried, 
with her pretty rippling laugh. “ Why, Connor, dear, 
you are handsomer than ever! Lotta should be a proud 
girl.” 

Connor flushed hotly. 

“If Lotta had been a proud girl,” he said, with an 
accent of displeasure, “ she would have preferred return- 
ing to England and taking her proper place in society as 
the granddaughter of Sir Arthur Cardlyon to becoming 
7ny wife.” 

“Well, of course, that goes without saying; and if she 
had, she would have been presented at court and in all 
probability have married a lord. But it is just possible 
that his lordship would not be as handsome or as clever 
as our unpretending Connor D’Arcy.” 

Every one laughed but Connor. 

“Don’t be silty, Eva!” he said, a trifle impatiently, as 
they drove away from the station. 

“ Is Lottchen very much altered ?” she asked presently. 
“ I thought she made just the loveliest kind of bridesmaid 
at Denise’s wedding.” 

“ She could never be other than lovely and perfect,” he 
rejoined briefly. 

He could not even yet forgive her her mercenary mar- 
riage. That she, the daughter of a millionaire, with her 
youth and her beauty, should have voluntarily elected to 
become the wife of Felix Rooney had filled him with un- 
speakable amazement and disgust. 

And while Eva expatiated on the picturesque beauty 
of the road, he made his team speed swiftly along under 
the mild suggestion of the whip. 

“ Oh, papa, what a quite too lovely place Connor has 
here!” Mrs. Felix cried ecstatically as the two-seated 
“ democrat” wagon drew up in front of the house in the 


Connor D ’Arcy*s Struggles. 


291 


valley. “ I had no idea it was one-half so — oh, here are 
Aunt Kate and Denise!” 

“ Allow me, my dear,” Mr. Rooney said, coming eagerly 
to her assistance. 

But she thrust his hand aside with a mocking little 
laugh, and springing lightly to the ground flung herself 
into Kate’s extended arms. 

“Oh, you dear, darling auntie!” showering warm kisses 
on Kate’s glowing face. “ How good it is to be with you 
again! and Denise — dear, precious Denise! It’s just like 
old times when you used to pet and care for me and — 

and ” To the astonishment of all present, Mrs. Felix 

Rooney dropped her face on her sister’s shoulder and 
burst into a passion of tears. 

“Oh, my dearest!” her husband gasped in dismay, 
watching her helplessly. 

For the space of a minute no one spoke. 

Then Mrs. Felix raised her head, great tears shining 
like crystal drops on the long, curling lashes. 

“Such an exhibition!” she said with a nervous laugh. 
“Oh, please pardon me! It was quite too absurd; but I 
couldn’t help it, really, you know.” 

“My dear,” Mrs. D’Arcy said in her soft tones, “why 
apologize to those who love you for an emotion at once 
beautiful and natural ?” 

She had long doubted the wisdom of her step-daughter’s 
choice ; and this little scene — this involuntary display of 
feeling — convinced her that the young wife had discovered, 
when too late, her fatal mistake. 

Was she right ? Who can tell ? 

“But it was so babyish,” Eva protested with a pretty 
pout as she followed Denise. 

“ You must take me to see Lottchen after I have rested, 
Connor,” she said, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I 


292 


Connor D' Arcy's Struggles. 


hope you have not forgotten to send an invitation to Mr. 
Brand? We must gather the clans, you know.” 

She laughed gayly, and passing on entered her room. 

“You are a very lucky girl, Denise,” she said, turning 
to her sister. “ I think Duke is just splendid!” 

“He is the noblest man on earth!” Denise declared 
warmly, with eloquent eyes. 

“ Oh, of course he is, my dear. It’s always that way, 
isn’t it? Every woman gets ‘the noblest man on earth!’ ” 
She yawned and sank languidly onto a couch as she 
spoke. “ I wish you would send my maid, Delphine, to 
me.” 

“ I will bring you a cup of tea first, dear,” Denise said, 
kissing her sister tenderly and hurrying from the room. 
Like her step-mother, Mrs. Clifford was convinced that 
Eva had made shipwreck of her life, and her heart ached 
for her beautiful young sister. 

“ I want you to take me over to Fall Farm to-day, 
Connor,” Mrs. Felix Rooney said the following morning 
at breakfast. “ I am positively dying to see darling 
Lottchen.” 

“I will drive you over after dinner,” he answered, 
smiling into the beautiful face, and wondering if he had 
not been mistaken the previous evening in thinking this 
radiant creature was unhappy. 

“Let me have that pleasure, Mrs. Rooney,” said 
Marmaduke Clifford, “ if you prefer going over at once, 
since Connor is so busy. I have made so many pilgri- 
mages to Fall Farm with Denise that I am quite familiar 
with the road.” 

“ Thanks, ever so much ; but Connor would be going 
over in any case, you know, so I shall just wait for 
him.” 

The afternoon was glorious and the drive to Fall Farm 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


293 


delightful. Eva was in the highest spirits— so bright, 
so vivacious, chatting and laughing with all the childish 
abandon of the days that were before she became Mrs. 
Felix Rooney, and Connor listened, marvelling at her 
pretty, quaint fancies. 

Lotta saw them in the distance and came into the 
porch to meet them. 

Ach! mein bestes Lottchen!” Eva cried, flinging her 
arms around Lotta and kissing her warmly. 

“ I have come to tell you how pleased I am, and to stay 
with you to-day. It will be like old times, you know. 
But what is the matter, mein Herz ? There are tears in 
your eyes and on your face. A bride should not weep, 
Lottchen.” 

“Ah, but they are happy tears, dear,” Lotta answered, 
returning Mrs. Rooney’s kiss and giving Connor her hand 
in welcome. “This,” she said, taking a letter from the 
table as they entered the parlor, “ has been the cause of 
my tears. It is from grandfather; and see, Connor, he 
inclosed this draft for a thousand potfnds, to purchase 
my trousseau! Read the letter, Connor, it is so kind — so 
kind!” 

Connor obediently complied, a pleased flush suffusing 
his face as he read. 

“He is just the very nicest kind of a grandfather,” 
commented Mrs. Felix approvingly, some three hours 
later. 

Connor had gone with Mr. von Rosenberg to look 
at a new threshing-machine, and the two girls were left 
alone. 

“ That sum should buy you a handsome trousseau., 
Lottchen,” pursued Mrs. Felix. “You must write at once 
to Madame Adolphe, Rue de la Paix, Paris, and inclose 
a photo of yourself with your order. She will know just 


294 


Connor D ' Arcf s Struggles. 


what to send you. She has the most exquisite taste. 
Her creations are the most r^cherM., the — why do you 
laugh ?” indignantly. 

“Don’t be vexed, dear,” Lotta cried, still laughing. 
“ But do you imagine I would send to Paris for a trous- 
seau ? What should I do with Madame Adolphe’s exquisite 
creations out here ? I am not going to marry a million- 
aire, but a farmer, and shall be very pleased with a 
trousseau that will not cost me one-fifth of a thousand 
pounds.” 

“You are quite too absurd, Lottchen!” Mrs. Felix re- 
torted scornfully. “You will want to look nice on your 
bridal tour. You will be going to Europe, I presume ? You 
cannot remain here always, wasting your grace and beauty 
upon this desert air. Sir Arthur Cardlyon’s grand- 
daughter must go into society.” 

“ I shall be in the very best society — my husband’s!” 
rejoined Lotta, with a lovely blush. 

Mrs. Felix laughed a sweet, mocking laugh. 

“What nonsense!” with a contemptuous shrug of her 
graceful shoulders. “ I think you are going to be quite 
as ridiculous over your husband as Mrs. D’Arcy is over 
baby Gerald. It is such a bore. He might be the one 
baby in all the world, she is so particular about every- 
thing that concerns him.” 

Lotta raised her head with a haughty gesture, her 
beautiful hazel eyes flashing. At that instant she looked 
in very truth the young patrician — dainty, high-bred, a 
true Cardlyon in every feature of the proud, beautiful 
face. 

“I consider it a grievous mistake,” she said, in her 
sweet, refined tones, “ when one is not rich to plunge into 
gayety at the very outset of one’s married life. And h 
propos of Mrs. D’Arcy, she has a right to be proud of her 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 295 

baby ; it is the one baby in all the world to her.^ you know, 
Mrs. Rooney.” 

“Oh, don’t call me by that horrid name, Lottchen; I 
hate the very sound of it!” 

“But no woman should hate the sound of her husband’s 
name! What’s in a name? Would not a rose by any 
other name smell quite as sweet ?” 

“A rose! Ah, yes, dear, when one is lucky enough to 
get a rose, but ” 

A low, nervous “Hem!” broke in upon her words, and 
with an apologetic “Mrs. Rooney, my dear,” Mr. Felix 
Rooney advanced into the room. 

“ You said you would return to the valley at five o’clock, 
so I came for you,” he announced. “It is close upon 

five now, and if you are ready ” looking at his watch 

uneasily, for the cool, questioning glance of his wife’s 
eyes was very disconcerting. 

‘‘I am sure,” she said sweetly, “the exercise will do 
you good. You can return at once., and please say to 
Miss D’Arcy that I shall remain with Miss von Rosenberg 
to-night.” 

He stood twirling his hat between his faultlessly gloved 
hands, Ipoking so humble and crestfallen that Lotta, 
feeling deeply pained on his account, glanced at Eva ap- 
pealingly. But that lady, having turned her back upon 
her husband, seemed oblivious of his presence. 

With sudden desperation he advanced a step. 

“My dear Mrs. Rooney!” he ventured to expostulate. 
“Miss D’Arcy will be very much astonished by this 
change in your intentions; you know, you ” 

Mrs. Felix turned upon him with a gesture of haughty 
surprise. “Did I not say you might go 2 " she inquired, 
with raised eyebrows. “ Why do you still remain? Miss 
D’Arcy will not be astonished at anything 1 may do or 


296 


Connor D ' Arcy's Struggles. 


say. If I should think of returning to-morrow — which is 
problematic — Mr. von Rosenberg will drive me over in 
the evening.” 

“Oh, don’t trouble Mr. von Rosenberg. I shall come 
for you, my dear!” he said hastily. 

“I should not like you to be disappointed, as you cer- 
tainly would be should you come for me to-morrow, as it 
is just possible I shall remain where I am indefinitely, if 
Miss von Rosenberg will have me.” 

“There can be no ‘ifs’ on that point, Eva, between you 
and me,” Lotta rejoined quickly, a faint rose-blush man- 
tling her lovely face. “ I shall always be pleased to have 
you; there is plenty of room, and should ” 

“You are so good, Lottchen,” Eva interrupted quickly, 
knowing quite well what Lotta was about to say, and de- 
termined that she should not utter the invitation which her 
husband was eagerly expecting, “ so that settles it. Of 
course I shall remain. I think there is nothing more to 
say, Mr. Rooney,” turning to her husband, “and I need 
not detain you. Au revoir.'* 

His look of blank disappointment was good to see. He 
was silent an instant, glancing furtively at Lotta. 

“You will require a change of dress,” he said suddenly. 
“ I will send Delphine with a trunk.” 

She uttered a low, musical laugh. 

“If you like,” she responded with a careless shrug of 
her shoulders and turned away. 

That evening one of Connor’s men assisted Delphine 
and a well-filled trunk into the wagonette and drove both 
to Fall Farm. 

“You can ask some of the men to carry that trunk into 
one of the outhouses, Delphine,” her mistress said serenely 
when her waiting-woman and trunk arrived. “ I shall not 
want either it or you while I am here.” 


Connor D ' Arcfs Struggles. 


297 


Connor was angry at Eva’s treatment of her husband, 
and spoke to his aunt that evening on the subject. 

“ Why did she marry the man if she must publicly show 
her contempt of him?” he said hotly. “Father told me 
he used every argument at his command to dissuade her 
from this marriage, but she overruled all his objections 
and assured him over and over again that she could only 
be happy with Felix Rooney. Now she treats him with 
absolute rudeness.” 

“ Eva is very much changed,” Kate answered, in pained 
tones. “ Poor child, she was dazzled by the thought of 
his great wealth, and in her ignorance made the most fatal 
mistake of her life — a mistake which, I fear, she is already 
beginning to discover. You must drive me over to Fall 
Farm to-morrow, and I shall speak to her.” 

But Kate’s speaking to Mrs. Rooney had not the desired 
effect. 

“ You are the very dearest auntie in the world,” she said 
gayly; “but your rhetoric and sympathy are entirely 
thrown away. If I did not occasionally snub the man 
and keep him in his place, he would become intolerable. 
His ideas are the ideas of Plutocracy and Plebeia, and he 
is apt to mistake underbred familiarity for well-bred bon- 
homie. Oh, I assure you, dear, I have never changed in 
my treatment of Mr. Felix Rooney since the first hour I 
became his wife. So please let us dismiss the man from 
our thoughts and return to Lottchen.” * 

There was a look of disappointment on Kate’s eloquent 
face which Lotta could not fail to see, but Mrs. Felix 
talked gayly while she sipped her tea. 

“I presume, Lottchen,” she remarked, putting down her 
cup and strolling to the window, “ you have decided to 
accept Sir Arthur’s invitation? It is only right that 
Connor and you should pay him a visit. You cannot 


298 Connor D ' Arcy' s Struggles. 

possibly intend to shut yourselves up in the valley for 
the natural term of your lives, in that Darby and Joan 
fashion.” 

“I have not decided upon anything; Connor must do 
that. But while my uncle is spared to me I will remain 
near him. I promised the dear father that I should be 
as a good daughter to him, and I shall not break that 
promise.” 

“ I think you are quite too absurd, Lottchen, effacing 
yourself in that way, and running the chance of displeas- 
ing Sir Arthur after all his kindness, and Lord and Lady 
Riversmede sending you those beautiful gifts,” Mrs. Felix 
remarked, beginning to drum on the window-pane with 
her dainty fingers and hum a soft Italian air. 

“ They are very beautiful,” Kate said, glancing admir- 
ingly at the open cases on a table beside them. 

“ This diamond bracelet, the earl’s gift, I prefer to all 
her ladyship has sent me, because of the few kind words 
which accompanied it.” 

At that moment Mrs. Felix uttered an excited little 
shriek. 

“ I declare I think it is — yes, positively, it is Mr. Brand !” 
she cried, and, with all her old impulsiveness, rushed from 
the room. 

Kate blushed vividly and bent her head over the brace- 
let. A minute later Mrs. Felix returned, leading in Frank 
Bran^triumphantly, closely followed by Mr. von Rosen- 
berg and Connor. 

Frank shook hands warmly with Lotta and heartily 
congratulated her. Then he glanced toward Kate, and 
crossing to her side shook hands with her. 

After that there was a good deal of pleasant talk and 
more tea-drinking. 

“ I declare, ” Kate said with a laugh as she glanced 


299 


Connor D 'Arcy's Struggles. 

out of the window, “ Dan has put the horses to the 
wagonette and is bringing it to the gate.” 

“He thinks it is time you were going,” said Mr. von 
Rosenberg, with a roar of laughter. “But that is our 
good Connor’s fault. He told Dan to put the horses to in 
half an hour; now he seems to have forgotten. That is 
his way.” 

There was a general laugh at Connor’s expense. 

“I am going too, auntie,” Mrs. Felix announced as 
Kate, having made her adieux, walked to the door. 

Kate nodded and strolled down the path. 

“ I have a letter here from Father Donnatti which I 
should like you to see,” said a voice she well knew. 

She paused with a vivid blush. 

“It is very short,” he continued. “Will you read it 
now?” 

With a sudden new shyness Kate took the letter which 
Frank Brand held toward her. 

Her heart was beating wildly and her hand trembled 
as she drew the inclosure from its envelope. 

He stood by her side watching her eagerly while she 
read it to the end. 

“ Is this really true ?” she asked, looking up, tears 
standing in her blue eyes, her pretty face radiant with a 
great joy. 

“Yes,” he answered. “I fought against conviction and 
Father Donnatti until I was forced to cry peccavi. As I 
think you have read in the good Father’s letter, he re- 
ceived me into the Church a fortnight since. Are you 
pleased ?” 

“Thank God! and God bless Father Donnatti,” she 
responded fervently. 

“Amen to that,” he said with deep reverence. “And 
now, Kate, since Heaven has condescended to enlighten 


300 


Connor D *Arcy*s Struggles. 


my darkened soul, I have come to ask you the question 
which you once promised to answer me. Will you be my 
wife, dearest?” 

“Yes,” she said with a happy blush, tears of joy stand- 
ing in her eyes as she gave him her hand. 

He raised it to his lips and kissed it tenderly. 

“Happy at last!” he said as Connor and Eva issued 
from the house. 


THE END. 


Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York. 


A CHARMING TRIO 


TOM PLAYFAIR; 

or, Making a Start. By Francis J. Finn, SJ. i2mo, 
cloth, with a Frontispiece, $i.oo. 

“ It is the best boy’s book that ever came from the 
press.” — Michigan Catholic. 

“ We have taken too much pleasure in reading about 
Tom Playfair not to find an especial pleasure in recom- 
mending the story of his school-days to other readers.” 
— Catholic World. 

“An enthralling tale of school-boy life,” — Freeman's 
Journal, Dublin. 

PERCY WYNN; 

or, Making a Boy of Him. By the same, i2mo, 
cloth, with a Frontispiece, $i.oo. 

“ We have at last found a tale which we can recommend 
to every college lad. . . . ‘ Percy Wynn ’ is a tale every 
boy should read.” — Messenger of the Sacred Heart. 

“ It pleased us so much that we read it through at a sin- 
gle sitting.” — Caxton Review. 

“ We reach the end too soon.” — Catholic Companion^ 


HARRY DEE; 

or. Making it Out. By the same. i2mo, cloth, with 
a Frontispiece, fi.oo. 

“ A downright good Catholic tale for boys. . . . We 
wish books like this were more plentiful.” — Liverpool Cath- 
olic Times. 

“ Every boy from the eager base-ballist of eight to the 
sage of sixteen will devour it.” — M. F. Egan in Catholic 
Citizen. 

“ Of the same woof of powerful fiction as its predeces- 
sors.” — Fordham Monthly. 


-BENZIGER BROS., New York, Cincinnati, Chicago- 


NEW ! 


CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; 

OR, HOW THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. 

By FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. 

12mo, cloth gilt, with frontispiece, $1.00. 


Press Notices to 

PERCY WYNN; 

OR, MAKING A BOY OF HIM. 

By FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. 

Second Edition. lamo, cloth, gilt, with a frontispiece, $i.oo. 


“This little volume is a model combination of the religious 
and the fine literary elements. We cannot name a book that 
so pleasantly conveys high lessons of candor, honor, docility, 
generosity, and manly piety.” — Michigan Catholic. 

“ Here is a genuine American boys’ book. Every chapter 
will interest boys. . . . Some of them will laugh at Percy at 
first, but as they read on they will appreciate him and find that 
he combines all the qualities they admire. Boys’ verdicts are 
generally fair and just, and as to their verdict on this book 
there can be no question.” — New York Catholic News. 

“ A captivating book, and gives an opportunity to replace 
some of the trashy and harmful fiction of the day with fiction 
that is healthy.” — Kansas Catholic. 

“It is a positive relief to come upon a breezy book like 
this. No boy, inside or outside of college, can fail to be 
pleased with it and to rise from its perusal a better boy. . . . 
The novelty. of the plot appeals to every reader.” — San 
Francisco Monitor. 

“. . . It is full of exciting incidents in school-boy life ; the 
story is very well told, and the moral lessons judiciously 
subordinated to the development of the plot.” — Irish Monthly, 
Dublin. 

“The story is of remarkable interest from beginning to 
end. . . . This book and others by the same author should be 
in every ‘ Boys’ Library.’ ” — Georgetown College Journal. 

“ It is a bright, wholesome story for boys. It is Ameri- 
can, and of to-day. We cheerfully commend it to our boys, 
as an offering for their amusement and instruction.” — The 
Rosary. 


BENZIGER BROTHERS, New York, Cincinnati, Chicagoi 


TOM PLAYFAIR; 

OR, MAKING A START. 

By FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. 

Second edition. 12mo, cloth, gilt, with a frontispiece, $1.00. 


“ Much like ‘Tom Brown’s School-days,’ it is fresh and 
original in its entire cast. . . . Last year the author pub- 
lished a similar book, called ‘ Percy Wynn,’ which is in reality 
a sequel to the present story. . . , Both books are equally 
interesting and well written, and make a wholesome addi- 
tion to college and school libraries as well as to the home-read- 
ing shelf.” — American Ecclesiastical Review. 

“It is healthy to meet a refreshing story like ‘Tom Play- 
fair.’ . . . ” — Pittsburgh Catholic. 

“ ‘ Tom Playfair ’ is a good story in every respect. Tom 
is a plain American boy, fond of mischief and fun.” — Catholic 
Record, Indianapolis. 

“ A story that will be read with healthful pleasure by the 
boys and girls of the land.” — lozva Messenger. 

“ A good story, well told, and a fitting companion to ‘ Percy 
Wynn.’” — Catholic Union and Times. 

“ An enthralling tale of school-boy life. The hero, although 
somewhat precocious in repartee, and endowed with at least a 
double dose of boyish exuberance and love of mischief, will 
win the sympathy and admiration of all who follow his career.” 
— Freeman s Journal, Dublin. 

“ Boys who have read Father Finn’s excellent story, 
‘ Percy Wynn,’ will need no pressing to peruse this latest 
effort of his facile pen.” — 7'he Ave Maria. 

“ Holds the reader spellbound to the close, and we lay 
down the delightful volume wishing that it were only 
longer, . . . ” — Niagara Index. 

“ ... It is the best boys’ book that ever came from the 
press. At some parts of it the tears have coursed down our 
cheeks as when we were a boy, and at others we have laughed 
until tired. . . . ” — Michigan Catholic. 

“ No boy can read the story of these beautiful young lives 
and not be nobler and better.” — Catholic Columbian, 

“We do not hesitate to compare the author with Dick- 
ens.” — Poor SouTs Advocate. 

“ A charming and interesting tale. Should be in the 
hand of every Catholic youth in the land.” — Catholic Telegraph. 


BENZIGF.R BROTHERS, New York, Cincinnati, Chicago. 


HARRY DKR; 

OR, MAKING IT OUT. 

Gy KRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. 

12mo, cloth, gilt, with a frontispiece, $1.00. 


“ This is a downright good Catholic tale for boys, full 
of adventures and hairbreadth escapes, teeming with wonder- 
ful cricket, football, and baseball matches. . . . We wish 
books like this were more plentiful.” — Liverpool Catholic 
Times. 

“ There is no doubt about the genuineness of the demand 
for a new story by Father Finn. . . . His boys are genuine 
boys, and their growth is perfectly natural and beautiful, 
and nothing but good is lo be gathered from its contemplation. 
In this book one sees both Tom and Percy as young men, but 
the half of their school adventures has not yet been told : there 
are many months of which one has but the faintest idea, and, 
while rejoicing over this book, the boys will hope for another 
next year.” — The Pilot. 

“Father Finn’s stories are just what are needed. They 
have all the excellencies of style and plot to enchain the inter- 
est, and are an effective antidote for the soul-destroying mod- 
ern novel. His ‘ Percy Wynn ’ and ‘ Tom Playfair ’ have gone 
into thousands of homes and will make welcome this latest 
effort of a gifted author.” — Catholic Union and Times. 

“ It is a very jolly story, with plenty of incident and fun.” 
— Sacred Heart Review. 

“It is the only book for Catholic boys published for 
this Christmas in America. . . . ‘Harry Dee’ is a boys’ 
story of the best class. It is true to life, sympathetic, full of 
‘rush’ and action. . . . As ‘ Harry Dee’ is the only boys’ 
book of its kind, I hope that every Catholic boy in the land 
may find it under his Christmas-tree. I know one boy that 
will.” — Maurice F. Egan, LL.D., in The Citizen. 

“Father Finn’s stories for boys have long since passed be- 
yond the need of editorial commendation. . . . Father Finn’s 
boys play ball, wrestle with the umpire about ‘strikes ’and 
‘balls ’and ‘fouls,’ and they ‘ slide ’ after the best manner of 
our Carrollites. There are a few good fights in the book, but 
the right boy always wins.” — Notre Dame Scholastic. 

“The author is the Rev. Francis J. Finn, S.J., whose simple 
yet eloquent style of writing has charmed such a large cli- 
entele of youthful readers. Stirring scenes, a beautiful de- 
scription of boarding-school life, a mysterious murder, and 
midnight vigils in a reputed haunted mansion are some of the 
constituents which render ‘Harry Dee’ an interesting tale 
for boys.” — Dublin Freeman's Journal. 


BENZIGER BROTHERS, New York, Cincinnati, Chicago. 


GflTHOLiIC B00K;S 

PUBLISHED BY 

BKNZIGKR BROTHKRS, 

CINCINNATI: NEW YORK; Chicago- 

143 Main St. 86 & 88 BARCLAY ST. 178 Monroe St. 


A KOST LIBERAL DISCOUM from these Trices (those marked net excepted) will be 
made to Dealers, Clerirymeii, Religious Institutions, and Schools. 

The Postage on net books is extra. 


Abandonment 5 or, Absolute Surrender of Self to Divine Providence. 
By Rev. J. P. Caussade, S.J. Translated by Miss Ella McMahon. 
32mo, cloth, go cents. 

Aletheia; or, The Outspoken Truth on the All-important Question of 
Divine Authoritative Teaching. An exposition of the Catholic Rule of 
Faith, contrasted with the various Theories of Private and Fallible 
Interpretation of the Sacred Scriptures. By the Right Rev. J. D. 
Ricards, D.D. Second edition. i2mo, cloth, net, 8o cents. 

Almanac, Catholic Home. A charming Annual for Catholics, 25 cts. 


Analysis of the Gospels of the Sundays of the Year. From the 
Italian of Angelo Cagnola. By Rev. L. A. Lambert, LL.D., Author 
of “Notes on Ingersoll,” etc. 8vo, cloth, net, 1 25 

Art of Profiting by our Faults, according to St. Francis de Sales. 
From the French of Rev. J. Tissot, by Miss Ella McMahon. 32mo, 
cloth, 50 cents. 

Bible, The Holy. With Annotations, References, and an Historical 
and Chronological Index. i2mo, cloth, $i 25 

Imitation morocco $3 00 

Calf, round corners, red and gold edges 5 00 

Morocco, “ “ “ “ 6 00 

Divinity morocco, calf lined, sewed with silk net, 12 75 

This is a handy edition, printed from clear, new type on good paper, substantially 
bound, at low prices. 


Birthday Souvenir, or Diary. With a Subject of Meditation ora 
Prayer for every Day in the Year. By Mrs. A. E. Buchanan. New 
edition, with ruled pages for memoranda. Cloth, gilt, 50 cents. 

Blessed Ones of 1888: Bl. Clement Maria Hofbauer, C.SS.R; Bi. 
Louis-Marie Grignon de Montfort ; Bl. Brother yEgidius Mary of St. 
Joseph; Bl. Josephine Mary of St. Agnes. From the German by 
Eliza A. Donnelly. i8mo, cloth, illustrated, 50 cents. 

Blind Friend of the Poor; Reminiscences of the Life and Works of 
Mgr. de Segur. i8mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Brownson, Orestes A., Literary, Scientific, and Political Views of. 

Selected from his works, by PL F. Brownson. i2mo, cloth, jiet, $i 25 
Burke, Rev. J. J. The Reasonableness of the Practices of the 


Catholic Church. i2mo, paper, ^ 20 cents. 

- The Reasonableness of the Ceremonies of the Catholic Church. 
I 2 rao, paper, 10 cents, 


2 LENZIGER BRO TITERS' ST A EDA RB CA THOLIO B 0 OKS. 


Canonical Procedure in Disciplinary and Criminal Cases of Clerics. 
A systematic Commentary on the “ Instructio S. C. Epp. et Reg. 1880. 
By the Rev. Francis Droste. Edited by the Right Rev. Sebastian 
G. Messmer, D.D., Bishop of Green Bay, Wis, 121110, cloth, net, $i 5c 

Catechism of Familiar Things. Their Blistory, and the Events 
which led to their Discovery. With a short explanation of some of the 
principal Natural Phenomena. With 16 full-page Illustrations. Cloth, 
inked side, $i 00 

Catechism of Perseverance; or. An Historical, Dogmatic, Moral, 
Liturgical, Apologetical, Philosophical, and Social Exposition of Reli- 
gion from the beginning of the World down to our own days. By Mgr. 
Gaume. From the 10th French edition. 4 vols., net, $7 50 

Catholic Belief; or, a Short and Simple Exposition of Catholic 
Doctrine. By the Very Rev. Joseph fa A Di Bruno, D.D. Author’s 
American edition edited by Rev. Louis A. Lambert, author of 
“Notes on Ingersoll,” etc. looth Thousand. i6mo, flexible cloth, 
40 cents. 10 copies, $2.65 — 50 copies, $12.00 — 100 copies, $20 00 

Cloth, red edges, 75 cents. 

Catholic Christianity and Modern Unbelief. A plain and 
brief statement of the real doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church as 
opposed to those falsely attributed to her by unbelievers in Revelation. 
By the Right Rev. J. D. Ricards, D.D. 121110, cloth, net, $i 00 

Catholic Memoirs of Vermont and New Hampshire. With 

sketches of the lives of Rev. Wm. Henry Hoyt and Fanny Allen. 
Also with accounts heretofore unpublished of the lives of Rev. Daniel 
Barber, Rev. Horace Barber, S.J., and Jerusha Barber. i2mo, cloth, 
ink and gold side, $i 00 

Paper, 50 cents. 

Catholic Worship. The Sacraments, Ceremonies, and Festivals of 
the Church explained in Questions and Answers. From the German of 
Rev. O. Gisler, by Rev. Richard Brennan, LL.D. (25th Thousand.) 
Paper, 15 cents; per 100, $9.00. Cloth, 25 cents; per 100, $15.00. 

Catholic Young Man of the Present Day. Letters to a Young 
Man by Right Rev. Augustine Egger, D.D.,' Bishop of St. Gall. 
From the German, by Miss Ella McMahon. 32nio, paper, 15 cents ; 
per 100, $9.00. Cloth, inked sides, 25 cents; per 100, $15.00. 

Christ on the Altar. Instructions for the Sundays and Festivals of 
the Ecclesia.stical Year. Explaining how the Life, Miracles, and 
Teachings of Our Lord in the Holy Land are continued on the Altar of 
the Parish Church. By Right Rev. Louis de Goesbriand, D.D., 
Bishop of Burlington, Vt. With 2 chromo-lithographs, 63 full-page 
illustrations, 240 illustrations of the Holy Land and of Bible History, 
ornamental initials, tail-pieces, etc., etc. Quarto, cloth, rich gold and 
ink design, gilt edges, $6 00 

Christian Anthropology. By Rev. John Thein. With an Intro- 
duction by Prof. Chas. G. Herbermann, LL.D. 8vo, cloth, net, $2 50 


BENZIOEn BROTHERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 8 


OhristlS.n Father, The 5 what he should be, and what he should do. 
Together with a Collection of Prayers suitable to his condition. (25th 
Thousand.) Paper, 25 cents ; per 100, $15.00. Maroquette, 35 cents ; 
per lOb, $21.00. Cloth, 50 cents; per 100, $30.00. 

Christian Mother, The; the Education of her Children and her 
Prayer. With an account of the Archconfraternity of Christian Mothers, 
together with its rules, prayers, indulgences, etc. (35th Thousand.) 
Paper, 25 cents; per 100, $15.00. Maroquette, 35 cents; per 100, 
$21.00. Cloth, 50 cents; per 100, $30.00. 

Compendium Sacrae Liturgiae Juxta Ritum Romanum una cum 
Appendice De Jure Ecclesiastico Particular! in America Foederata Sept, 
vigente scripsit P. Wapelhorst, O.S.F. Crown, 8vo, cloth, net, $2 50 

Cornelius a Lapide’s Great Commentary upon the Gospels. Trans- 
lated and edited by the Rev. T. W. Mossmann, B.A., Oxon. Complete 
insixvols., $18 00 

Correct Thing for Catholics, The. By Lelia Hardin Bugg. 
Sixth edition. i6mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

Counsels of a Catholic Mother to Her Daughter. Translated 
from the French. i8mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Counsels of St. Angela to Her Sisters in Religion, 321110, 
cloth, net. 25 cents. 

Crown of Thorns, The; or, The Little Breviary of the lloly Face. 
A complete Manual of Devotion and Reparation to the Holy Face of 
Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. By the Sisters of the Divine 
Compassion. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Eucharistic Gems. A Thought about the Most Blessed Sacrament for 
Every Day in the Year. Compiled from the works of the Saints and 
other devout writers on this great Mystery. By Rev. L. C. Coelenbier. 
With a steel-plate Frontispiece. 161110, cloth, gilt sides, 75 cents. 

Examination of Conscience for the use of Priests who are making 
a Retreat. P'rom the French of Gaduel. Adapted by Rev. Eugene 
Grimm, C.SS.R. Cloth, flexible, red edges, net., 30 cents. 

Explanation of the Baltimore Catechism of Christian Doctrine. 
For the use of Sunday-school Teachers and Advanced Classes, By 
Rev. Thomas L. Kinkead. i2nio, cloth, net, $i 00 

Fabiola ; or, the Church of the Catacombs. By Cardinal Wiseman. 
liiustrated Edition. Contains an exquisite, artistic Chromo-Frontis- 
piece, 32 full-page Illustrations and numerous engravings. 4to, cloth, 
artistic design on side in gold and ink, red edges, $6 00 

The same, gilt edges, $7 50 

Finn, Rev. Francis J., S.J. 

Tom Playfair; or. Making a Start. i2mo, cloth gilt. With a 
Frontispiece, $i 00 

Percy Wynn ; or. Making a Boy of Him. A Story of Boy Life at 
Boarding-School. With a Frontispiece. i2mo, cloth gilt, $i 00 

Harry Dee; or, Making it Out. I2m0, cloth gilt. With a Frontis- 
piece, $i 00 


4 BEXZIGER BROTHERS' STAXJARD CAiTIIOLIG BOOKS. 


First Communicant’s Manual. This book, prepared expressly for 
the use of those about to make their first Communion, contains a greater 
and richer collection of prayers and devotions relating to the Adorable 
Sacrament than any other prayer-book of its size. It is embellished 
with numerous full-page illustrations, head-bands, tail-pieces, and an 
illustrated Way of the Cross. 

Red line edition. 32mo. Prices from 45 cents to $4.00. 

Edition without red line. Small 32mo. Prices from 90 cents to $5.00 

Francis de 5ales, St. 

Maxims and Counsels of. For Every Day of the Year. From the 
French by Miss Ella McMahon. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

New Year Greetings. From the French by Miss INIagaret A. 
Colton. 32mo, maroquette, full gilt side, 15 cents ; per 100, $10 00 

General Principles of the Religious Life. By Very Rev. 

Boniface F. Verheyen, O.S.B. 321110, cloth, net, 30 cents. 

Glories of Divine Grace. Translated from the German of Dr. M. 
Jos. Scheeben, by a Benedictine Monk of St. Meinrad’s Abbey, 
Ind. Second, revised edition. i2mo, cloth, net, $r 50 

God Knowable and Known. By Rev. Maurice Ronayne, S.J. 

121110, cloth, net, $i 25 

Goffine’s Devout Instructions on the Epistles and Gospels for the 
Sundays and Plolidays; with Explanations of Christian Faith and Duty 
and of Church Ceremonies. With eight full-page Illustrations. Crown 
8vo, cloth, ink and gold side, $i 50 

“Golden Sands,” Books by the author of. Translated from the 
French by Miss Ella McMahon. Each with a steel-plate Frontispiece. 
Third Series, 32mo, cloth, 60 cents. 

Fourth Series, 32mo, cloth, 60 cents. 

Fifth Series, 32mo, cloth, 60 cents. 

100 Persian calf, padded, gilt title and floral design, round corners, edges red 

under gold $i 20 

127 German calf, limp, gilt centre, round corners, edges red under gold i 80 

Book of the Professed. 32mo, cloth. 

Vol. I. ) ( $i 00 

Vol. II. >- Each with a steel-plate Frontispiece. •< o 75 
Vol. III. ) ( o 75 

Prayer. Offered to Novices and Pious People of the World. (Taken 
from the “Book of the Professed.”) Cloth, 50 cents. 

The Little Book of Superiors. With a steel-olate Frontispiece. 

32mo, cloth, „ 75 cents. 

Spiritual Direction. For the use of Religious Communities. With 
a steel-plate Frontispiece. 32mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

Little Month of May. 32mo, maroquette, 25 cents. 

Little Month of the Souls in Purgatory. With Prayers for the 
Suffering Souls, a Rosary, a Way of the Cross, and a Manner of Hearing 
Mass for the Souls in Purgatory. 32mo, black maroquette, 35 cents. 
Hints on Letter Writing for Academies and for Self Instruction. 
l6mo, cloth, 60 cents. 


BENZIGER BROTHERS' STANDARD CATIIOLIG BOOKS. 


Golden Prayer, The. Short ]\Ieditations on the Lord’s Prayer for 
Every Day in the Week. With other Meditations on Prayer for Every 
Day in the Month. From the French of the Abbe Duquesne, by 
Anne Stuart Bailey. 

Paper, lo cents ; per lOO, $6 oo 

Maroquette, 20 “ “ 12 00 

The same, fine edition, with red line, cloth gilt, 50 cents. 

Greetings to the Christ=ChiId. A Collection of Christmas Poems 
for the Young. Embellished with 9 Illustrations, Tail-pieces, etc., etc. 
Square l6mo, full gilt side, 50 cents. 

Handbook for Altar Societies and Guide for Sacristans and others 
having charge of the Altar and Sanctuary. By a Member of an 
Altar Society. . i6mo, cloth, red edges, net, 75 cents. 

Handbook of the Christian Religion. For the use of Advanced 
Students and the Educated Laity. By Rev. W. Wilmers, S.J. From 
the German. Edited by Rev. James Conway, S.J. Second edition, 
with supplement. i2mo, cloth, «<?/, $i 50 

Happy Year, A ; or, the Year Sanctified by meditating on the Maxims 
and Sayings of the Saints. From the French of Abbe Lasausse, by 
Mrs. James O’Brien. i2mo, cloth, net, $i 00 

Heart, The, of St. Jane Frances de Chantal. Thoughts and 
Prayers compiled from the French by the Sisters of the Divine Com- 
passion. 32mo, cloth, with portrait of the Saint, 50 cents. 

Hidden Treasure; or. The Value and Excellence of the Holy Mass. 
With a Practical and Devout Method of Hearing it with Profit. By the 
Blessed Leonard of Port-Maurice. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

History of Confession ; or, the Dogma of Confession Vindicated 
from the attacks of Heretics and Infidels. From the French of Rev. 
Ambroisk Guillois, by Right Rev. Louis de Goesbriand, D.D., 
Bishop of Burlington, Vt. i6mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

History of the Catholic Church within the Limits of the United 
States, from the first attempted Colonization to the present time. By 
John Gilmary Shea. Bound in cloth, per volume, net, $5 00 

Vol. I. The Catholic Church in Colonial Days. 

Vol. II. Life and Times of Archbishop Carroll. 

Vol. III. From the Division of the Diocese of Baltimore to the 
Fifth Council of Baltimore, 1843. 

Vol. IV. From the Fifth Provincial Council of Baltimore, 1843, 
to the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore, 1866. 

History of the Catholic Church, by Dr. II. Brueck, with 
Additions from the Writings of His Eminence Cardinal Hergenrother. 
Translated by Rev. E. Pruente. With an Introduction by the Rt. Rev. 
J. A. Corcoran, S.T.D. Second edition. 2 vols., 8vo, cloth, net, $3 00 

History of the Catholic Church. Adapted from the original of 
Rev. L. C. Businger, by Rev. Richard Brennan, LL.D. Together 
with a History of the Church in America, by John Gilmary Shea, 
LL.D. With 90 Illustrations. 8vo, cloth, ink and gold side, $2 00 


6 BENZIGEB BROTTTEBS* STAXBABD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Holy Face of Jesus, The. A Series of Meditations on the Litany of 
the Holy Face. Adapted from the French of the Abbe J. B. Fourault, 
by the Sisters of the Divine Compassion. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Home Rule Movement, with a Sketch of Irish Parties from 1843. 

By T. r. O’Connor, M.P. Large 8vo, 578 pages, cloth, $3 50 

Hours Before the Altar ; or. Meditations on the Holy Eucharist. 

By Mgr. De La Bouillerie. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

How They Worked Their Way, and other Tales. (Stories of 
Duty.) By M. F. Egan, LL.D. i2mo, cloth, $i 00 

How to Get On. By Rev. Bernard Feeney. With an Introduction 
by His Grace, the Most Rev. Wm. H. Gross, D.D., C.SS.R. i2mo, 
paper, 50 cents ; cloth, • $i 00 

Hunolt’s Sermons. Sermons by the Rev. Francis Hunolt, Priest 
of the Society of Jesus and Preacher in the Cathedral of Treves. 
Translated from the original German edition of Cologne, 1740, by the 
Rev. J. Allen, D.D., Chaplain of the Dominican Convent of the Sacred 
Heart, King Williamstown, South Africa. 

The Sermons are adapted to all the Sundays and Holy-days of the 
Year, and each set contains a full index of all the sermons, an alphabet- 
ical index of the principal subjects treated, and copious marginal notes. 
Per set of 2 vols., net, $5 00 

Vols. I, 2. The Christian State of Life. 

Vols. 3, 4. The Bad Christian. 

Vols. 5, 6. The Penitent Christian. 

Vols. 7, 8. The Good Christian. 

Vols. 9, 10. The Christian’s Last End. In press. 

Vols. II, 12. The Christian’s Model. In preparation. 

Idols; or, The Secret of the Rue Chaussee d’Antin. Translated from the 
French of Raoul de Navery, by Miss Anna T. Sadlier. Second 
edition, revised. i2mo, cloth, 25 

Instructions on the Commandments of God and the Sacraments 
of the Church. From the Italian of St. Alphonsus de Liguori. 
Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents; 
maroquette, 35 cents. 

Interior of Jesus and Mary. By Pere Grou. New edition. Revised 
and edited by Rev. S. 11 . Frisbee, S.J. 2 vols., i2mo, cloth, net, $2 00 
Joseph, St., the Advocate of Hopeless Cases. From the 
French of Rev. Father Huguet, Marist. 32mo, cloth, |li 00 

Konings, Theologia Moralis. Novissimi Ecclesiae Doctoris S. 
Alphonsi. In Compendium Redacta, et Usui Venerabilis Cleri Ameri- 
can! Accommodata, Auctore A. Konings, C.SS R. Editio septima, 
auctior, et novis curis expolitior, curante Henrico Kuper, C.SS.R. 
Two vols., royal 8vo, half morocco, net, $5 00 

The two vols. in one, half morocco, net, $ 400 

Leper Queen, The. A Story of the Thirteenth Century. i6mo, cloth, 

50 cents. 


BEXZIGER BROTHERS* STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 7 


Life and Acts of Leo XIII. Preceded by a sketch of the Last 
Days of Pius IX., and the Origin and Laws of the Conclave. New 
and enlarged edition. Compiled and translated from Authentic Sources, 
by Rev. Joseph E. Keller, S.J. P'ully and beautifully illustrated. 
Crown 8vo, cloth, full gilt side, $2 00 

Life of St. Clare of Montefalco, Professed Nun of the Order 
of Hermits of St. Augustine. Translated by Rev. Joseph A. Locke, 
O.S.A. i2mo, cloth, $r 00 

Life of St. Ignatius of Loyola. By Father Genelli, of the Society 
of Jesus. With a steel-plate Frontispiece. i2mo, cloth, $i 50 

Life of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ and of His 
Blessed Mother. Translated and adapted from the original of Rev. 

■-, L. C. Businger by Rev. Richard Brennan, LL.D. With nearly 600 
choice Engravings. 

No. I. Roan back, gold title, plain cloth sides, sprinkled edges nft, $S oo 

No. 3. Morocco back and corners, cloth sides with gold stamp, gilt edges. 7 00 

No. 4. Full morocco, richly gilt back, with large figure of Our Lord in gold 

on side, gilt edges net, g 00 

No. 5. Full morocco, block-panelled sides, superbly gilt, gilt edges net, 1000 

Life of Father Charles Sire, of the Society of Jesus. A Simple 
Biography compiled from his Writings and the Testimony of those who 
have known him best. By his brother, Rev. Vital Sire. 121110, 
cloth, net, $r 00 

Life of Father Jogues, Missionary Priest of the Society of Jesus. 
Slain by the Mohawk Iroquois, in the present State of New York, 
October 18, 1646. By Father Felix Martin, S.J. With Father 
Jogues’ Account of the Captivity and Death of his Companion, Rene 
Coupil, slain September 29, 1642. Translated from the French by 
John Gilmary Shea. Second, revised edition. i2mo, cloth, $i 00 

Life of Mile. Le Gras (Louise de Marillac), Foundress of the Sisters 
of Charity and Co-operator of St. Vincent de Paul. From the French 
by a Sister of Charity. i2mo, cloth, $i 50 

Life of the Ven. Mary Crescentia Moss, of the Third Order 
of St. Francis. Drawn from the Acts of her Beatification and other 
reliable sources. i2mo, cloth, ink and gold side, (pi 50 

Life of St. Germaine Cousin, the Shepherd Maiden of Pibrac. 
From the French by a Sister of Mercy. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Life of St. Aloysius Gonzaga. From the Italian of Rev. Father 
Cepari, S.J. With Original Notes and an Appendix. Edited by Rev. 
F. Goldie, S.J. With a chromo-lithographic portrait as frontispiece, 
phototype fac-simile of letter, ii interleaved illustrations, and 108 other 
illustrations from historical documents, portraits, interiors, exteriors, 
plans, genealogical tables, etc. 8 vo, cloth, beautifully bound, net, $2 50 

Life of St. Francis di Geronimo of the Society of Jesus. 
i2mo, cloth, net, %i 75 


s BEN’zwEn :btio thees* s ta kdaed ca tiiolio b o oks. 


Life of Right Rev. John N. Neumann, D.D., Fourth Bishop of 
Philadelphia. From the German of Rev. A. Berger, C.SS.R., by 
Rev. Eug. Grimm, C.SS.R. i2mo, cloth. With portrait, , $i 50 

Life of Mary for Children, The. From the German, by Anne R. 
Bennett, nee Gladstone. Illustrated. 24mo, cloth, nei, 50 cents. 

Life of Rev. Mother St. John Fontbonne, Foundress and First 
Superior-General of the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Joseph in 
Lyons. From the French of Abbe Rivaux. With a steel portrait, 
engraved expressly for this work. i2mo, cloth, $i 50 

Life, Popular, of St. Teresa of Jesus. From the French of 
L’Abbe Marie-Joseph, of the Order of Carmel, by Annie Porter. 
With a steel-plate Frontispiece. Cloth, ink and gold side, $i 00 

Liguori, St. Alphonsus de. Complete Ascetical Works of. 

Centenary Edition. Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. This, 
the first complete, uniform edition in English of the works of this great 
Doctor of the Church will be in 24 volumes, of about 500 pages each, 
and offered at the uniform price, per volume, of ne^, $i 25 

Each book is complete in itself, and any volume will be sold separately. Volumes 
1 to 19 are now ready. 

This edition of St. Alphonsus’ Works has been honored with a letter from Our 
Holy Father Pope Leo XIII. 

Linked Lives. By Lady Gertrude Douglass. Crown 8vo, cloth, $i 50 

Little Compliments of the Season. SimpleWerses for Namedays, 
Birthdays, Christmas, New Year, and other festive and social occasions. 
With numerous and appropriate illustrations. By Eleanor C. Don- 
nelly. i6mo, cloth, ne^, 50 cents. 

Little Office of the Immaculate Conception, explained in Short 
Conferences. By Very Rev. Joseph Rainer. With Prayers. Suitable 
for Sodalities of the Blessed Virgin. 32mo, cloth, net, 50 cents. 

Little Saint of Nine Years. A Biographical Notice. From the 
French of Mgr. De Segur, by Miss Mary McMahon. 161110, cloth, 

50 cents. 

Lives, Short, of the Saints; or. Our Birthday Bouquet. Culled 
from the Shrines of the Saints and the Gardens of the Poets. By 
Eleanor C. Donnelly. Third edition. Cloth, gilt side, $i 00 

Lives of the Deceased Bishops of the Catholic Church in the 
United States. By Richard H. Clarke, LL.D. 3 vols., 8vo, cloth, 

per set, net, $7 50 

Lourdes, its Inhabitants, Its Pilgrims, Its Miracles. By R. F. Clarke, 
S.J. Illustrated. i6mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

Luther’s Own Statements Concerning his Teachings and its 
Results. Taken exclusively from' the earliest and best editions of his 
German and Latin Works. By Henry O’Connor, S.J. i2mo, 

• paper, 15 cents. 


I 


BENZIGEU BROTHERS' STAm)ARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 9 

Manifestation of Conscience. Confessions and Communions in 
Religious Communities. A Commentary on the Decree “ Quemad- 
modum” of December 17, 1890. From the French of Rev. Pie de 
Langogne, O.iM. Cap. With the original Decree and the Official 
Translation. 321110, cloth, net, 50 cents. 

Manual of Indulgenced Prayers. A Complete Prayer-book. 
Arranged and disposed for daily use by Rev. Bonaventure Hammer, 
O.S.F. (Prov. S. Joan. Bapt.) Small 321110, cloth, inked sides, 40 cents. 

Marriage. By Very Rev. P^re Monsabr^;, O.P. From the French, by 
M. Hopper. i2mo, cloth, net, |i 00 

Martyr, A, of Our Own Times. Life of Rev. Just de b’reten- 
IERES, Missionary Apostolic and Martyr in Corea. From the French 
of the Right Rev. Mgr. D’Hulst, Rector of the Catholic Institute, 
Paris. Edited by Very Rev. J. R. Slattery. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

McCallen, Rev. James A., S.S. 

Sanctuary Boy’s Illustrated Manual. Embracing the Ceremonies 
of the Inferior Ministers at Low Mass, Solemn High Mass, Vespers, 
Asperges, Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, and Absolution for 
the Dead. With numerous illustrations. P'ourth edition. i2mo, 
cloth, ^ net, 50 cents. 

The Office of Tenebrae. Transposed from the Gregorian chant 
into Modern Notation : 

Complete Office and Appendix. Cloth, net, $i 65 

Complete Office without Appendix. Cloth, 7 iet, $i 00 

Appendix, containing harmonizations of the Lamentations separately. 
Cloth, net, o 75 

Meditations, New Practical, for Every Day in the Year, on the Life 
of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Chiefly intended for the use of religious 
communities. By the Rev. Father Bruno Vercruysse, S.J. The 
only complete English translation. Published with the Approbation 
and under the direction of the author. Enriched by several Novenas 
and Octaves; Meditations for the P'irst Friday of every Month and for 
the days of Communion ; Exercises preparatory to the Renewal of 
Vows, and for a Retreat of eight Days, etc. 2 vols., 1244 pages. Extra 
cloth, beveled boards, red edges, I4 00 

Meditations on the Passion of Our Lord. Together with a 
Manual of the Black Scapular of the Passion, and Daily Prayers. From 
the Italian, by a Passionist Father. With 14 full-page Illustrations 
of the Way of the Cross. 32mo, cloth, red edges, 40 cents. 

Meditations for Every Day in the Year. Collected from 
different Spiritual Writers and suited for the Practice called “Quarter 
of an Hour’s Solitude.” Edited by Rev. Roger Baxter, S.J., of 
Georgetown College. It is now republished and revised in the 251st 
year of Jesuit labor in the United States, by Rev. P. Neale, S.J, 
Second edition. Small i2mo, cloth, red edges, net, fi 25 

Meditations on the Sufferings of Jesus Christ. From the 
Italian of Rev. Francis da Perinaldo, O.S.F., by a member of the 
same Order. i2mo, cloth, 25 


10 BEKZIGETt BBOTTTEBS* STANDARD CATTTOLTO BOOKS. 


Merrick, Rev. D. A., S.J. 

Saints of the Society of Jesus. i6mo, paper, net, lo cents ; cloth 
• gilt, net, 25 cents. 

A Sketch of the Society of Jesus. i6mo, paper, net, 10 cents ; 
clo'h gilt, net, 25 cents. 

Miraculous Power of the Memorare, illustrated by Examples. 
From the French of a Marist Father, by Miss Ella McMahon. 
Paper, 10 cents ; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 cents ; per 100, $12 00 

Mistress of Novices, The, instructed in her Duties ; or, a Method of 
Direction for the use of Persons charged with the Training of Souls in 
Christian Perfection. From the French of the Abbe Leguay, by Rev. 
Ignatius Sisk. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

Monk’s Pardon. A Historical Romance of the Time of Philip IV. of 
Spain. From the French of Raoul de Navery by Anna T. Sadlier- 
i2mo, cloth, $1 25 

Month of the Dead ; or. Prompt and Easy Deliverance of the Souls in 
Purgatory. From the French of the Abbe Cloquet,' by a Sister of 
Mercy. Approved by the Sacred Congregation, by His Lordship, the 
Archbishop of Bourges, and His Grace, the Archbishop of New York, 
With a steel-plate Frontispiece. 321110, cloth, 75 cents. 

Month of May. From the French of Father Debussi, S.J., by Miss 
Ella McMahon. 4th edition. 24mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Muller, Rev. Michael, C.SS.R. 


God the Teacher of Mankind. A plain, comprehensive Explanation 
of Christian Doctrine. 9 vols., crown 8vo, cloth. 

The Church and her Enemies, net, $i 10 

The Apostles’ Creed, net, i 10 

The First and Greatest Commandment, net, i 40 

Explanation of the Commandments, continued. Pre- 
cepts of the Church, net, i 10 

Dignity, Authority, and Duties of^ Parents, Ecclesi- 
astical and Civil Powers. Their linemies, net, i 40 

Grace and the Sacraments, net, i 25 

Holy Mass, net, i 25 

Eucharist and Penance, net, i 10 

Sacramentals — Prayers, etc., net, i 00 

Familiar Explanation of Catholic Doctrine for the Family and 
more Advanced Students in Catholic Colleges, Academies, and High 
Schools, for Persons of Culture, Old as well as Young. With a 
popular Refutation of the Principal Modern Errors. i2mo, cloth, $i 00 
The Prodigal Son; or. The Sinner’s Return to God. Crown 8vo, 
cloth, net, $i 00 

The Devotion of the Holy Rosary and the Five Scapulars. 

Crown 8vo, net, 75 cents. 

No Salvation out of the Church. Crown 8vo, cloth, net, $i 00 
The Catholic Priesthood. 2 vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, net, $3 00 


BENZIGETt BBOTITERS* STAXDARD CAmOLTC BOOKS. 11 


My First Communion: The Happiest Day of My Life. A Prep- 
aration and Remembrance for First Communicants. From the German 
of Rev. J. N. Buchmann, O.S.B., by Rev. Richard Brennan, LL.D. 
'i6mo, cloth, elegant. Illustrated, 75 cents. 

Names that Live in Catholic Hearts. Cardinal Ximenes — Michael 
Angelo — Samuel de Champlain — Archbishop Plunkett — Charles Carroll — 
Henry Larochejacquelein — Simon de Montfort. By Miss Anna T. 
Sadlier. 121110, cloth, $i 00 

Natalie Narischkin, Sister of Charity of St. Vincent of Paul. From 
the French by Lady G. Fullerton. i2mo, cloth, $i 00 

Novena in Honor of the Holy Face of Our Lord. Adapted 

from the French by the Sisters of the Divine Compassion. Paper, 10 
cents ; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 cents ; per 100, 12 00 

Novena in Honor of St. Catharine de Ricci, a Religious of the 
Third Order of St. Dominic. By the Dominican Sisters, Albany, N. Y. 
32mo, paper, net, 10 cents. 

O’Grady, Eleanor. 

Aids to Correct and Effective Elocution. With Selected 
Readings and Recitations for Practice. i2mo, cloth, $i 25 

Select Recitations for Catholic Schools and Academies. i2mo, 
cloth, $i 00 

Readings and Recitations for Juniors. i6mo, cloth, net, 50 cents. 

On Christian Art. By Edith Healy. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

On the Condition of Labor. Encyclical Letter of Our Holy Father, 
Pope Leo XIII. 8vo, paper, 10 cents; per 100, |6 00 

One Angel More in Heaven. With Letters of Condolence and of 

Consolation by St. Francis de Sales and others. White mar. , 50 cents. 
Our Birthday Bouquet. Culled from the Shrines of the Saints and 
the Gardens of the Poets. By Eleanor C. Donnelly. i6mo. 
cloth, 

Our Lady of Good Counsel in Genazzano. A History of that 

Ancient Sanctuary and of the wonderful Apparition and Miraculous 
Translation in 1467 of Our Lady’s Sacred Image from Scutari to 
Genazzano. By Anne R. Bennett, nee Gladstone, 32mo, cloth, 75 cts. 

Our Own Will and How to Detect it in Our Actions. Instructions 
intended for Religious. Applicable also to all who aim at the Perfect 
Life. By the Rev. John Allen, D.D. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

Paradise on Earth Opened to All; or, A Religious Vocation the 
Surest Way in Life. 32mo, cloth, cents. 

Path which led a Protestant Lawyer to the Catholic 

Church. By P. H. Burnett. 8vo, cloth, $2 00 


12 BENZIOETt BROTHERS* STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Philosophy, English Manuals of Catholic. 


1. Logic. By Richard F. Clarke, SJ. i2mo, cloth, ne /, $i 25 

2. First Principles of Knowledge. By John Rickaby, S.J., 

Professor of Logic and General Metaphysics at St. Mary’s Hall, 
Stonyhurst. i2mo, cloth, » ne /, $i 25 

3. Moral Philosophy (Ethics and Natural Law). By Joseph 

Rickaby, SJ. 121110, cloth, net , $i 25 

4. Natural Theology. By Bernard Boedder, S.J., Professor of 

Natural Theology at Stonyhurst. i2nio, cloth, net , $i 50 

5. Psychology. By Michael Maher, S.J., Professor of Mental 

Philosophy at .Stonyhurst College. i2nio, cloth, net , $i 50 

6 . General Metaphysics. By John Rickaby, S.J. i2rao, cloth, 

net , $I 25 

7. A Manual of Political Economy. By C. S. Devas, Esq., M.A., 

Examiner in Economy in the Royal University of Ireland. i2mo, 
cloth, net , $i 50 

Pictorial Lives of the Saints. With Reflections for Every Day in 
the Year. Including the Lives of the American Saints recently placed 
on the Calender for the United States by petition of the Third Plenary 
Council of Baltimore, and also the Lives of the Saints, canonized in 
1881 by His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. Edited by John Gilmary 
Shea, LL.D. 50th Thousand. 8vo, cloth, $2 00 

5 copies, $6.65 — 10 copies, $12.50 — 25 copies, $27,50 — 50 copies, $50 00. 
Practice of Humility, The. By His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. 
From the Italian by Rev. J. F. X. O’CoNOR, S.J. 32mo. 

With red line. Cloth gilt, 50 cents. 

Without red line. 

Paper, 10 cents ; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 “ “ 12 00 

Praxis Synodalis. Manuale Synodi Diocesanae ac Provincialis 
Celebrandae. i2mo, cloth, net , 60 cents. 

Primer for Converts, A. Showing the Reasonable Service of Catho- 
lics. By Rev. J. T. Durward. 32mo, cloth, flexible, net , 25 cents. 


Principles of Anthropology and Biology. By Rev. Thomas 
Hughes, S.J. Second edition. i6mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

Reading and the Mind, with Something to Read. By Rev. 

J. F. X. O’Conor, S.J. Second edition. Paper, 25 cents. 

Religious State, The. Together with a Short Treatise on the Vocation 
to the Priesthood. From the Italian of St. Alphonsus de Liguori. 
Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. 321110, cloth, 50 cents. 
Rights of Our Little Ones; or. First Principles on Education in 
Catechetical Form. By Rev. James Conway, S.J. 

32mo, paper, 15 cents; per 100, $g 00 

“ cloth inked, 25 “ “ 12 00 

Rosary, The Most Holy, in Thirty-one IMeditations, Prayers, and 
Examples, suitable for the Months of May and October. With prayers. 
By Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Maroquette, 35 cents. 


BENZIGER BROTHERS' STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 13 

Russo, N., 5 .J. — De rhilosophia Morali Praelectiones in Collegio 
Georgiopolitano Soc. Jes. Anno 1889-go Habitae, a Patre Nicolao 
Russo. Editio altera. 8vo, half leather, ^ net, $2 00 

Sacramentals of the Holy Catholic Church, The. By Rev. 

A. A. Lambing, LL. D., author of “A History of the Catholic Church 
in the Dioceses of Pittsburgh and Alleghany,” etc. i2mo, cloth, net, $i 25 

Sacred Heart, Books on the. 

Devotions to the Sacred Heart for the First Friday of Every 
Month. P'rom the P'rench of P. Huguet, Marist, by a Sister of 
Mercy. Cloth, red edges, with a steel-plate Frontispiece, 40 cents. 

213, Imitation Levant, limp, gilt centre, round corners, edges red under gold, 35 

Familiar Conferences on the Theology of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 
By Rev. E. M. Hennessy. i2mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

Imitation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By Rev. F. Arnoudt, 
S.J. From the Latin by Rev. J. M. Fastre, S.J. i2ino, cloth, $2 00 

Month of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Devotions for Every day 
of the Month. PTom the French of Rev. Father Huguet, by a Sister 
OF Mercy. 32mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

One and Thirty Days with Blessed Margaret Mary. From the 
P'rench by a Visitandine of Baltimore. 32mo, maroqueite, 25 cents. 

Pearls from the Casket of the Sacred Pleart of Jesus. A Collec- 
tion of the Letters, Maxims, and Practices of the Blessed Margaret 
Mary Alacoque. Edited by Eleanor C. Donnelly. 32mo, cloth, 
red edges, gilt side. With a steel-plate Frontispiece, 50 cents. 

Sacred Heart, Month of the, for the Young Christian. By^ 

Brother Philippe. From the French by E. A. Mullig.\n. 32mo, 
cloth, 50 cents. 

Sacred Heart of Jesus. Short Meditations for the Month of June. 
By R. P'. Clarke, S.J. i8mo, mar., gilt side, 15 cents ; per 100, |io 00 

Sacred Heart Studied in the Sacred Scriptures. By Rev. H. 

Saintrain. C.SS.R. Crown 8 vo, cloth, net, $2 00 

Sacred Heart, Revelations of the, to Blessed Margaret Mary ; 

and the History of her Life. From the French of Monseigneur 
Bougaud, by a Visitandine of Baltimore. Crown 8vo, cloth, net, ii 50 

Year of the Sacred Heart. A Thought for Every Day of the Year. 
Drawn from the works of Pere de la Colombi^re, of Blessed 
Margaret Mary, and of others. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Saints, The -New, of 1888: St. John Berchmans, S.J.; St. Peter 
Claver, S.J ; St. Alphonsus Rodriguez, S.J.; and the Seven Sainted 
Founders of the Servites. By Rev. Francis Goldie, S.J., and Rev. 
Father Scola, S.J. x8mo, cloth. With 4 full-page illustrations, 50 cts. 


14 BENZmER RROTIIERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Schouppe, 5hort Sermons for Low Masses. Comprisingr a 
complete, brief course of instruction on Christian Doctrine. By Rev. 
F. X. Schouppe S.J. Second edition. i2mo, cloth, net, $i 25 

Secret of Sanctity, The. According to St. Francis de Sales and 
Father Crasset, S.J. From the French, by Miss Ella McMahon. 
i2mo, cloth, net, 00 

Seraphic Guide. A Manual for the Members of the Third Order of 
St. Francis. According to the recent decisions of the Holy See. By 
A Franciscan Father. (Cust. S.Joan. Bapt.) Cloth, 60 cents. 

Roan, red edges, 75 cents. 

The same in German at the same prices. 

Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Festivals of the Ecclesiastical 
Year. With Two Courses of Lenten Sermons and a Triduum for the 
Forty Hours. By Rev. Julius Pottgeisser, S.J. From the German 
by Rev. James Conway, S.J. 2 vols., 121110, cloth, net, $2 50 

Sermons Moral and Dogmatic on the Fifteen Mysteries of 
the Holy Rosary. By Rev. M. J. Frings. Translated by J. R. 

Robinson. i2mo, cloth, ' net, $i 00 

Short Stories on Christian Doctrine: A Collection of Examples 
illustrating the Catechism. From the French by Miss Mary McMahon. 
i2mo, cloth. With six full-page illustrations, 00 

Simplicity in Prayer. From the French, by a Daughter of St. 

Francis de Sales, Baltimore. 32010, cloth, net, 30 cents. 

Six Sermons on Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. From 
the German of Rev. Dr. E. Bierbaum, by Miss Ella McMahon. 
i6mo, cloth, . net, o 60 

Smith, Rev. 5. B., D.D. 

Elements of Ecclesiastical Law. Compiled with reference to the 
Syllabus, the “Const. Apostolicae Sedis” of Pope Pius IX., the 
Council of the Vatican, and the latest decisions of the Roman Con- 
gregations. 

Vol. I. Ecclesiastical Persons. 8vo, cloth, 7 iet, $2 50 

Vol. H. Ecclesiastical Trials. 8vo, cloth, net, |2 50 

Vol. III. Ecclesiastical Punishments. 8vo, cloth, net, $2 50 

Compendium Juris Canonici, adusum Cleri et Seminariorum, 

hujus regionis accomodatum. Third edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, net, $2 00 

The Marriage Process in the United States. 8vo, cloth, 

net, $2 50 

Socialism Exposed and Refuted. By Rev. Victor Cathrein, 
S.J. A Chapter from the author’s Moral Philosophy. From the German. 
By Rev. James Conway, S.J. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

Solid Virtue: A Triduum and Spiritual Conferences. By Rev. 
Father Bellecius, S.J. From the Latin, by a Father of the Society 
OF Jesus. With the permission of Superiors. i6mo, cloth, 60 cents. 


BENZIGEH be OTHERS’ STAEBARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 15 


Souvenir of the Novitiate. Especially intended for the use of 
Religious Communities devoted to the Education of Youth. From the 
French by Rev. Edward I. Taylor. 32mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

Spiritual Crumbs for Hungry Little Souls. To which are 
added Stories from the Bible. By Mary E. Richardson. i6mo, 
cloth, nei^ /jo cents. 

Stories for First Communicants, for the Time before and after 
First Communion. Drawn from the best authorities by Rev. J. A. 
Keller, D.D. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents ; maroquette, 35 cents. 

St. Teresa’s Own Words ; or, Instructions on the Prayer of Recol- 
lection. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Sunday-School Teacher’s Manual; or. The Art of teaching 
Catechism. For the use of Teachers and Parents. By Rev. A. A. 
Lambing. i6mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

Sure Way to a Happy Marriage. A Book of Instructions for 
those Betrothed and for Married People. From the German by Rev. 
Edward I. Taylor. (25th Thousand.) 

Paper, 30 cents ; per 100, $18 00 

Maroquette, 40 “ “ 24 00 

Cloth, 60 “ “ 36 00 

Tales and Legends of the Middle Ages. From the Spanish of 
F. De P. Capella. By Henry Wilson. i 6 mo, fancy binding, $r 00 

Think Weil On’t ; or. Reflections on the Great Truths of the Christian 
Religion, for every Day of the Month. By the Right Rev. R. 
Challoner, D.D. 32mo, cloth, flexible, 20 cents. 

Thought from St. Alphonsus, for Every Day of the Year. 32mo, 
cloth,- 50 cents. 

Thought from Benedictine Saints. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from Dominican Saints. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Francis Assisi and his Saints. 32mo, 

cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Ignatius. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Teresa. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Vincent de Paul. 32mo, clotn, 50 cents. 

True Spouse of Christ; or. The Nun Sanctified by the Virtues of her 

State. By St. Alphonsus Liguori. Crown 8vo, cloth, |i 50 

Truths of Salvation. By Rev. J. Pergmayr, S.J. From the 
German by a Father of the same Society. i6mo, cloth, fi 00 

Twelve Virtues, The, of a Good Teacher. For Mothers, Instructors, 
and all charged with the Education of Girls. By Rev. H. Pottier, 
S.J. From the French. 32mo, flexible, cloth, red edges, net, 30 cents. 


16 BEXZTGER BTtOTIIEBS' STANDARD CATIIOLIG BOOKS. 


Visits to the Most Holy Sacrament and to the Blessed Virgin 
Mary. For Every Day of the Month. By St. Alphonsus de Liguori. 
Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents; mar., 35 cents. 
219 Persian calf, padded, fancy stamping, round corners, edges red under gold $i 35 
127 German calf, limp, gilt centre, round corners, edges red under gold i 80 

Ward, Rev. Thomas F. 

Thirty =two Instructions for the Month of May and for the Feasts 
of the Blessed Virgin. From the French. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 
Fifty=two Instructions on the Principal Truths of Our Holy 
Religion. From the French. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

Way of Interior Peace. Dedicated to Our Lady of Peace. By Rev. 
Father De Lehen, S.J. Translated from the German Version of Rev. 
James Brucker, S.J., by a Religious. i2mo, cloth, net, $i 25 

Weninger’s Sermons. 

1. Original Short and Practical Sermons for Every Sunday of 
the Year. Three Sermons for Every Sunday. 8vo, cloth, net ,%2 00 

2. Sermons for Every Feast of the Ecclesiastical Year. Three 

Sermons for Every Feast. 8vo, cloth, net, $2 00 

3. Conferences specially addressed to Married and Unmarried 

Men. 8vo, cloth, net, $2 00 

4. Conferences for Married and Unmarried Women. 8vo. 

cloth, net, $2 00 

5. Original Short and Practical Sermons in honor of the Blessed 

Sacrament. Thirty-six Sermons, in twelve divisions, three in each. 
8vo, cloth, net, $i 75 

What Catholics have done for Science, with Sketches of the 

great Catholic Scientists. By Rev. Martin S. Brennan. i2mo, 
cloth, $r 00 

Will of God, The. From the French, by M. A. M. To which is added 
an easy Method of Attending Holy Mass with Profit, by St. Leonard 
of Port-Maurice. 

Paper, 10 cents ; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 “ “ 12 00 

Women of Catholicity: Margaret O’Carroll — Isabella of Castile— 
Margaret Roper — Marie de I’lncarnation — Margaret Bourgeoys — Ethan 
Allen’s Daughter. By Miss Anna T. Sadi.ier. i2mo, cloth, $r 00 

Words of Jesus Christ during His Passion, explained in their 
Literal and Moral Sense. Translated from the French of Rev. F. X. 
Schouppe, S.J., by Rev. J. J. Quinn. Maroquette, silver side, 25 cents. 

Words of Wisdom. A Concordance of the Sapiential Books. From 
the French. i2mo, cloth, net, 25 

Zeal in the Work of the Ministry ; or, The Means by which every 
Priest may render his ministry Honorable and Fruitful. From the 
French of L’Abb^; Dubois. Crown 8vo, cloth, net, $i 50 



• « 


.1 




I • 


I •* ■■ 


I ' • • 

*' 'Ml 


. ,* . . .: * 

• • \. ‘ ' •■ • - > -rf ' •' • 

■ • . • . . V ■•••.••.■.•.* ■• - • ,i ’ •• « • ■ • : 

n ■ A. ■ •■■•• „ ./*.»•■ • -V , • ■'' 

. i- '■ ■■•.’• •, • »■'-, , ■ ■ •-*«- 

'V- - .* • : .• ■ 

>• 
i « 




''V. 

4 / 


* '*’* .■ -■ *,• ' • 'I -' 


»“ r 


— “ t" T 


r- ‘ 


r • 
4 


k':* -i 


•'4 

••'7 :. 


f * J ' 


f. 




K ■^- * 

• '"^IV •' * * 




► * • * . 


•A 


■•>, ‘.fi 




' <■ 

y 


r 


s , 


.r.ci‘ 


' • . -. V 




* • ^ ‘' \ s*^ ^ jr‘^‘‘ 

s \Xr' • ;•;• <-rf 

A » ‘ti 


I ■ * • • 


• «■ , ■-« 

■ >' 


• v 


k. 

■i 




' 'a-, . ‘- r 




. > 


- < 


* 

s 





■ ’ . 

•* - ■. 


. V' ’ * ^ ' •..- ; ‘'t w . r 

. >•. • ->•* •' ,*••.. <' *^•'^•• 1 . 1 * -• ■ 

- '' - . r:^ . .■,'•■■■ ■■' . v.,^ .;' ■:■■•* 


* , 


'*.4 


• • 


>->.' 


• /■' 






'><*•' »; -V - 






■"- 'f 




, 4 
4 V 

• 




V . »', V- ■: *- v-' vr 

. . « * . /-■''•.• 

'■•. '• •\v'' 

.» V >•':•• • ■ •" 


‘ i 



• • I . . . ' 

"'■> ' •. \'/ ■ 

V* • * V J ^ 


wV 


r • ^ A ’ * 


•r-^ > 




• M. ^ 


^ I 


*'.' ‘S -'' 
-^ .% . /- 


*. 

" *-4 • 


r . 


k 

• i 


/ ^ r ; 

4 a ^ 


• *' ; /•*’■<• 


^ ' 
f 


« . > 




. / 


■ • , 


■V. . • I 

























1 

4 * 





















